Rome's Darkest Hour (Book 4 of the Soldier of the Republic series)

By William Kelso

Summer 216 BCE. As Rome fights for her very existence, struggling to find an answer to Hannibal’s genius on the battlefield - Flavius, father, patriot and Roman spymaster is sent south on a mission to stop Punic spies from infiltrating the town of Nola. In this dirty and secret war, Flavius will need all his experience and courage to keep this key strategic town from falling into Carthaginian hands.

Distinguishing himself at the battle of Cannae, Gisgo, proud warrior prince of Numidia is still broke, all his hopes of recovering his ancestral lands and former wealth, repeatedly dashed by the cruel and inexplicable will of Tanit, Goddess and heavenly protector of Carthage. But as Hannibal takes pity on him and offers Gisgo a new opportunity to regain his fortune, old demons from Gisgo’s past are once again stirring, urging him to take a different path.

In northern Spain, Julian, Flavius’s estranged twenty-year-old son, fights for Rome and for his young family. As Hasdrubal, attempts to break out and repeat his brother’s epic journey across the Alps, Julian finds himself taking part in the desperate Roman attempt to halt the Carthaginian advance along the Ebro. Sent into battle, amongst the fierce and treacherous Iberian tribes, Julian and his comrades know that they must prevail, if they are to ever see their homes and families again. As winter turns to spring it soon becomes clear that Rome’s darkest hour will either begin or end at the battle of Dertosa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Kelso
• Release date: Feb 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463300497

William Kelso

Hello, my name is William Kelso.My books are all about ancient Rome, especially the early to mid-republic as this was the age of true Roman greatness. My books include, The Shield of Rome, The Fortune of Carthage, Devotio: The House of Mus, the eleven books of the Soldier of the Republic series and the nine books of the Veteran of Rome series - Caledonia (1), Hibernia (2), Britannia (3), Hyperborea (4), Germania (5), The Dacian War (6), Armenia Capta (7), Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (8) and Veterans of Rome (9). Plus the 11 books of the Soldier of the Republic Series and Rome Divided (book one of the Guardian of Empire Series). So, go on. Give them a go.

Book preview

Rome’s Darkest Hour

Book four of the Soldier of the Republic series

By: William Kelso

Visit the author's website http://www.williamkelso.co.uk/

William Kelso is also the author of:

The Shield of Rome

The Fortune of Carthage

Devotio: The House of Mus

The Veteran of Rome series (9)

Soldier of the Republic series (4)

Published in 2020 by KelsoBooks Ltd. Copyright © William Kelso. First Edition

The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ABOUT ME

Hello, my name is William Kelso. I was born in the Netherlands to British parents. My interest in history and in military history started at a very young age, when I was lucky enough to hear my grandfather describing his experiences of serving in the RAF in North Africa and Italy during World War 2. Recently my family has discovered that one of my Scottish/Northern Irish ancestors fought under Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

I love writing and bringing to life the ancient world of Rome, Carthage and the Germanic and Celtic tribes. It’s my thing. My aim is to write 100 books in my lifetime. After graduation, I worked for 22 years in financial publishing and event management in the city of London as a salesman for some big conference organizers. Working in the heart of the original Roman city of Londinium I spent many years walking its streets and visiting the places. The names of which still commemorate the 2,000-year-old ancient Roman capital of Britannia; London Wall, Watling Street, London Bridge and Walbrook. The city of London if you know where to look has many fascinating historical corners. So, since the 2nd March 2017 I have freed myself from corporate life and become a full-time writer. It’s one of the best decisions I have ever made. Stories as a form of entertainment are as old as cave man and telling them is what I want to do.

My books are all about ancient Rome, especially the early to mid-republic as this was the age of true Roman greatness. My books include, The Shield of Rome, The Fortune of Carthage, Devotio: The House of Mus, the four books of the Soldier of the Republic series and the nine books of the Veteran of Rome series - Caledonia (1), Hibernia (2), Britannia (3), Hyperborea (4), Germania (5), The Dacian War (6), Armenia Capta (7), Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (8) and Veterans of Rome (9). So, go on. Give them a go.

I live in London with my wife and support the Help for Heroes charity and a tiger in India.

To: Mum and Dad, married for 60 years

Dear Reader,

I hope that you will enjoy this book. Rome’s Darkest Hour is the fourth instalment of the Soldier of the Republic series which will eventually contain nine books. Book 5 will be published by July 2020. Feel free to write to me with any feedback on my books. Email: [e-mail]

Chapter One – Prelude

July 216 BCE, Southern Italy

Trailing a cloud of dust, the Numidian horsemen thundered across the plain, their hooves beating the earth. It was a stiflingly hot and airless morning and, in the clear blue skies, Gisgo could see for miles. Clad in his splendid, gleaming Thracian helmet, he was wearing a finely made coat of chainmail body-armour decorated with his noble house’s blazon - a black horse on a white background. Holding his javelins and small round shield in his left hand, Gisgo led his men on through the flat open country that surrounded the lone hilltop town of Cannae. Following him across the plain, were the five hundred and ninety-nine Numidian light-cavalry men who were still with him - out of the eight hundred who had originally set out from New Carthage, over two years ago. The Numidians, with their darkish complexions and savage appearances, looked like experienced, battle-hardened warriors, completely at ease on their mounts. The wild North African horsemen clad in a mixture of native clothing and miscellaneous Roman body armour, tunics, helmets, boots and other stolen Italian objects were riding their small shaggy horses without saddles. Like their commander, they too were gripping light javelins and holding small round shields painted with their unit’s image of a black horse on a white background.

As the Numidians swept around the base of the hill, crying out to each other and their horses, Gisgo could see that the plain ahead was deserted as far as the horizon. There was no one here as he had expected. There were no concealed Roman forces lying in wait, in ambush. Mission accomplished, he reached for the curved ivory horn that hung from his neck and quickly blew on it three times, signalling the all clear. Then raising his shield and javelins above his head, Gisgo slowed his horse to a trot and then to a walk. As his Numidians followed their commander’s lead, Gisgo sombrely turned to peer in the direction of Cannae, where Bomilcar’s elite African infantry had swiftly begun their assault on the small Roman settlement. Cannae had no walls and the reports from the scouts had suggested that most of the townsfolk had already fled. It was going to be an easy victory.

Looks like we will be eating well tonight, Sir, one of the Numidian officers called out in delight, as the officers and men turned to watch the unfolding assault.

Gisgo said nothing, as he watched the screaming Africans storming up the slopes towards the small town. Then sombrely he turned away, to gaze out across the deserted and bone-dry plain. The officer was right. Cannae may have been abandoned by its inhabitants, but Hannibal had told him that the Romans were still using it as a supply depot and supplies were just what a hungry army of fifty thousand needed. But it was not what he needed, he thought. He was a prince of Numidia, but homeless, broke, in debt and without a coin to his name; a mercenary prince who had joined Hannibal to make his fortune. For over two years now he had followed Hannibal’s star. He had fought in Spain, led his Numidians across the Alps and had taken part in the battles of the Trebbia and Lake Trasimene. He had even infiltrated the city of Rome itself on a covert mission. Yet at the end of it all he was still as broke as when he’d started. He was, he knew, out of favour with Tanit, mighty goddess and heavenly protector of Carthage. The cruel bitch was conspiring to prevent him from making his fortune and he did not know what he had done to deserve her scorn. It was baffling.

At thirty-two, Gisgo looked in a good physical condition, tall, lean and strong with a darkish complexion, curly raven black hair and piercing blue eyes. Strapped around his waist, over his looted Roman tunic, was a belt from which hung a Roman gladius, short sword and a pugio, army knife. Over the long idle winter months, spent in Hannibal’s army’s winter quarters at Geronium, he had grown a thick black beard and around his neck he was wearing two amulets. One with three, tiny painted terracotta heads and the other a looted Roman bronze phallic symbol, intended to ward off evil spirits. The amulets helped him sleep at night, but they could not entirely erase the sense of guilt and restlessness that had stalked him since his return from last year’s disastrous, covert mission to Rome. Sombrely Gisgo lowered his eyes. He was aware of his faults and imperfections and the responsibility he bore. The lure of silver and riches had led him astray. He had promised Amia he would take care of her, but instead he had broken his word and abandoned her and Turibas was dead because he, Gisgo, had done nothing to help him. It didn’t really matter anymore that Epicydes had betrayed them all. He, Gisgo, had fucked things up and his friends were dead because of it. That was the responsibility that he bore and which over the winter he had come to accept.

To the west, the flat country ended in a hazy line of hills, whilst to the north, Gisgo could make out the course of the Aufidus, its banks lined with trees and vegetation, as the narrow river meandered its way eastwards towards the sea, four miles away. He had confided his most private thoughts to no one, not even Xenocles and Ablon, his two closest friends. The long idle winter months spent at Geronium, had provided him with ample time for thought and reflection. Turning his attention back to the assault on Cannae, Gisgo’s features hardened. What he really needed, he had finally realised, was forgiveness, a chance to make things right, to make amends. But he was not going to get a second chance.

***

As he nudged his horse along Cannae’s unpaved streets, Gisgo could see that Bomilcar’s Africans were firmly in control of the small Roman hilltop town. The fighting, if there had been any, had been over within minutes. A troop of demoralised and frightened Roman prisoners were kneeling in a line along the pavement, their hands clasped to the back of their heads, whilst their captors stood about in the street, calling out to each other in excited voices. Out of sight, Gisgo could hear dogs barking and a woman’s mournful wailing. Further down the road, parties of Africans were going from house to house, kicking down doors in search of booty. The noise of splintering wood and the soldier’s harsh cries rang out across the small settlement. Moments later, a woman’s high-pitched scream rent the still morning air, followed by a burst of laughter. Walking his horse past the large grain warehouses with their precious grain pits, Gisgo noticed that Bomilcar had posted a strong guard. The grain pits, it seemed, were off limits to the looters.

At last, spotting Mago sitting on his horse at the edge of the town, Gisgo rode towards him. The commander of the Carthaginian detachment tasked with seizing Cannae was clad in magnificent gold and silver-coloured body armour and leg greaves. A long purple cloak was draped across his shoulders and on his head, Mago was wearing a high peaked lebbade, a Punic cap. A curved Spanish falcata sword hung from his belt. Gathered around him on the summit of the hill, admiring the fine views across the flat open country to the north, were a group of mounted Carthaginian officers and bodyguards.

Sir, Gisgo called out, as he rode up to report and rapped out a stiff salute. No sign of any hostile forces. No Roman ambush or relief column like we feared. No casualties. I have posted two mounted pickets, one to the west and one to the south. They will give us ample warning of any approaching threats.

For a moment, Mago said nothing as he turned to gaze at Gisgo.

Good. Well done Gisgo. You were right then. In the end we had no cause to worry, Mago called out magnanimously.

Accepting the compliment from his superior officer, Gisgo humbly inclined his head and looked away. Hannibal’s younger brother had a friendly face, with puffed, rosy cheeks and a carefully trimmed forked beard. He looked physically weaker and softer than his two older brothers, Hannibal and Hasdrubal, but that was to underestimate him, Gisgo thought. In the two years that he’d known Mago, he had learned to respect his keen diplomatic skills and his unflappable courage.

Cannae is ours, Mago continued, looking pleased. We have captured the supply depot completely intact, thanks to Bomilcar’s quick thinking. There is enough grain in the pits to feed an army for months.

Glancing quickly at Bomilcar, Gisgo saw that his old rival was smirking at him. The commander of the elite African infantry in Hannibal’s army, was a big, powerfully built man in his early thirties. His face was disfigured by an ugly scar that ran all the way from his mouth, across his cheek and down to his throat, as if someone had once slashed him with a knife. Bomilcar was a first-class soldier and leader, but he was also an arrogant prick, a product of the Carthaginian ruling class, who had always looked down on half casts like himself, Gisgo thought. There was no love lost between him and Bomilcar, not since they had nearly come to blows in Spain over who should have the honour of capturing the Bargusii king. Bomilcar was an arsehole.

I don’t understand. What was the problem? The Romans were too few to pose a threat, Gisgo said, turning to address himself to Mago and turning his back on Bomilcar.

The Romans tried to set fire to the grain pits, Bomilcar growled, before Mago could reply. I swiftly put a stop to that before they could do any damage. If they had burned the grain, our mission would have been a failure. You and your Numidians will eat well tonight because of me, Gisgo. The whole army will eat well because of what my men achieved.

Good work, Gisgo said in a tight voice, forcing the compliment from his mouth as he turned to confront Bomilcar.

A better job than what you did in Rome last year, Bomilcar replied, in a mocking voice. I keep my men alive and happy – unlike you.

Clustered around Bomilcar, some of the Carthaginian officers suddenly looked amused whilst others appeared mortified.

For a long moment, Gisgo glared at Bomilcar in silence. Then with an all mighty effort of self-restraint he turned his attention back to Mago.

Gentlemen, that will be all, Mago said, turning to his officers and smoothly breaking the growing tension. Return to your units. We will camp in the town tonight. The grain pits are our prize. Hannibal and the main force should reach us by tomorrow evening. Well done, all of you. It’s been a good day’s work.

Not you, Gisgo. You will stay, Mago said sharply, as Gisgo was about to ride back to his men.

As the officers turned their horses around and started to disperse, Gisgo noticed Bomilcar shaking his head and staring at him with open contempt. The big man was trying to provoke him, by mocking him and spreading falsehoods whenever he could, Gisgo thought. Bomilcar had been at it ever since he Gisgo had returned empty handed and humiliated from last year’s disastrous covert mission to Rome with Epicydes. Hannibal and Epicydes had got their silver alright Gisgo thought angrily but he had been betrayed and left with nothing. It was not right. Ignoring his rival, Gisgo turned his back on Bomilcar and nudged his horse alongside that of Mago. He was not going to allow that prick to provoke him, but one day the big man was going to get what was coming to him.

For a while Mago did not speak, as he gazed out across the flat open country to the north, that stretched away beyond the Aufidus river. From their vantage point on the summit of the hill, Gisgo could see for miles.

Do you know why we have seized Cannae? Mago said at last.

The grain pits Sir, Gisgo replied in a quiet voice. The army needs the food and supplies.

On his horse Mago nodded. What do you see? Mago continued gesturing at the brown and golden plains that stretched away to the coast.

Gazing at the countryside Gisgo did not immediately respond. Then he took a deep breath and straightened up.

It’s good country for cavalry, flat and open, Gisgo replied.

At his side, a little smile had appeared on Mago’s lips.

Spoken like a true soldier. Yes, so it is, Hannibal’s younger brother said, staring out across the plain. The men’s morale and capabilities are high, but our position here in Italy is precarious, Mago continued in a sober manner. None of Rome’s allies have so far deserted her cause, even though we have twice smashed their field armies. We are just an army of fifty-thousand men in a hostile country surrounded by millions of enemies and scores of well-fortified cities. We have no access to a seaport. No chance of getting any immediate reinforcements. Funds are low and we are being forced to move from one place to the next in search of supplies. Our overall strategic position is poor. Fabius, the Roman dictator, he knows this. Mago nodded solemnly raising a finger as he spoke. Hannibal was concerned, deeply worried by that man’s plan. Fabius’s delaying strategy could have worked if given time. He could have starved us and worn us down in small battles and skirmishes, always avoiding a decisive engagement whilst denying us the supplies we needed.

Gisgo was looking thoughtful. Mago was right. The past twelve months had indeed been a strange time, a phoney war of move and counter move, feints, small engagements and inconclusive skirmishes. The Roman army led by Fabius had employed a new strategy after their defeat at Lake Trasimene. Refusing to meet in a decisive battle, Fabius had simply kept his army together and followed the Carthaginians around Italy, watching and observing them, but always keeping to the safety of the high ground. Instead the Romans had contented themselves with skirmishing with the Punic foraging parties and launching small attacks, which had been broken off when faced with serious resistance. Fabius’s style of war had been especially demanding on the cavalry Gisgo knew for he and his comrades had often been forced to ride to the rescue of their comrades.

I heard that the Romans have replaced Fabius with two new consuls, Gisgo said at last. Fabius has gone back to Rome.

Yes, that is correct, Mago nodded. And thank the Gods for it. We’re in luck. Fabius is the only Roman who knows how to beat us. He is a dangerous man. I am glad that the Romans have sacked him.

If you say so Sir, Gisgo replied with an indifferent shrug.

Hannibal believes that the seizure of Cannae and their supply depot will finally shame the Romans into action, Mago continued. We need to fight. We need a battle and a decisive victory, in order to break the power that Rome has over her allies. We cannot keep roaming around Italy forever without a base. So that is why we have seized Cannae. Solemnly Mago turned to gaze at Gisgo, his eyes gleaming. We are going to sit here at Cannae and wait for the Romans to arrive, even if it takes weeks. Hannibal has already chosen the ground on which we will fight. When the new Roman consuls do finally arrive, we are going to fight them right down over there in that plain, Mago said, gesturing at the flat open country between the Aufidus and Cannae. We are going to fight a battle of annihilation.

For a long moment, Gisgo remained silent as he stared at the ground to which Mago was pointing. Then at last he stirred.

It’s a good plan, Sir, Gisgo said quietly. Like I said the ground is well suited for cavalry and our riders are better than the Roman cavalry.

I need you to find me a suitable spot for a camp, Mago said abruptly changing the subject. A place where we can billet the whole army, but close to Cannae and with good access to water. I will need your recommendation before tomorrow evening, when my brother is expected to arrive with the main army.

I will see to it Sir.

Good, Mago said with a nod. Then he paused. You have changed, Mago said at last, glancing at Gisgo with a little appreciative smile. Over the winter I have watched you change, and I am not talking about that beard. Your time in Rome appears to have affected you. You are humbler now than you were before. Less of a hothead. The Gisgo that I knew in Spain and Gaul would have smacked Bomilcar in the face, for the way he mocked you just now. But you controlled yourself. You did not allow him to provoke you. That is good. Self-control is an admirable quality. You showed judgement just now. Hannibal prizes that in his officers.

Thank you, Sir, Gisgo replied. I was going to ask you. Is there any news about Epicydes?

You need to let that go, Mago said sharply.

The man betrayed me, Sir, Gisgo replied swiftly. My men and I were promised payment for our services and we were left with nothing. I lost a good friend in Rome. That’s not right. Hannibal must make a judgement on this.

I don’t know where Epicydes is, Mago said with a sigh. Some of the silver bullion that you stole from Rome has been given to us, but it was not Epicydes who made the delivery. I have not seen him in over a year, but Hannibal does receive regular messages from him. Epicydes is an important man working for our cause. He is our master spy, our ears and eyes amongst the Romans and their allies. If you are thinking about revenge - forget it. Epicydes is too important. Hannibal will not allow him to be harmed.

Will you speak to Hannibal on my behalf Sir? Gisgo pressed. We should at least get compensation. It is not right that my men and I are treated like this.

Hannibal has more important issues on his mind, Mago responded. Look, my brother thinks you are a fine soldier, Gisgo, but now is not the right time to go troubling him with demands for money. We have a war to win.

Swiftly Mago turned his horse around and, as he moved on past Gisgo with his bodyguards in tow, Mago gave him a friendly parting slap on his shoulder.

Your luck will change, Gisgo, he called out, as he rode away. Like the seasons follow each other. Your day will come.

Chapter Two – The Battle of Cannae

29th July 216 BCE

From his vantage point Gisgo could see the huge clouds of dust, that were being blown westwards across the plain by the morning breeze. The dust was impossible to miss, a towering wall, thrown up by hundreds of thousands of marching boots and the hooves of thousands of animals, horses and pack animals. It was an awesome, intimidating and sobering sight. Gathered along the ridge, sat upon their horses Hannibal and his staff were silently gazing northwards at the approaching Roman army. The Carthaginian banners and battle-standards, held aloft by the officer’s bodyguards, fluttered in the breeze and gleamed in the sunlight. Further along the ridge amongst the Punic camp on the high ground, parties of Spanish, Gallic and African infantry had stopped what they were doing and had turned to observe the spectacle.

Hannibal was clad in his magnificent golden body armour and leg greaves and, across his shoulders a purple cloak embroidered with the Barca family motif, Hercules’s club, in fine gold thread. On his head he was wearing a gold-coloured lebbade, a peaked Punic cap and one of his eyes was covered by a black eye-patch. Standing bolt upright at Hannibal’s side, gazing at the approaching Roman columns with a stern and uncompromising expression, was Hannibal’s shield bearer, clutching a polished round shield with Punic markings and a couple of iron-headed javelins.

They were all there, all the principal Carthaginian commanders, Gisgo thought as he turned to glance in Hannibal’s direction. Maharbal; Hannibal’s deputy and overall cavalry commander. Mago; Hannibal’s youngest brother. Bomilcar; commander of the African infantry. Hanno; Hannibal’s nephew, who had ambushed the Gaul’s during the crossing of the Rhone. Hasdrubal; commander of the Spanish and Gallic heavy cavalry. Carthalo; commander of the Spanish infantry contingents. Magilus, proud chieftain of the Gallic Insubres and the remaining Numidian and Gallic princes and chieftains. Glancing at his fellow officers, Gisgo raised his chin. Despite their rivalries, the senior Carthaginian commanders made a good team. The two years they’d spent together on campaign had given them a healthy confidence, trust and insight into each other’s ability.

Across the plain to the north the great clouds of dust were drawing closer.

Varro seems to be in a hurry, Hannibal exclaimed at last, his face a stoic mask that revealed nothing.

The Roman consul is inexperienced, impetuous and rash, Maharbal replied scornfully. It is the other consul Paullus that we must be wary of Sir. It is said that Paullus is more cautious than his colleague. He may wish to continue the Roman dictator’s delaying strategy. He is a friend of Fabius.

A friend of Fabius, Hannibal muttered.

Our spies confirm that the Romans have combined their consular armies. The consuls are alternating command, Maharbal continued, as he carefully studied the distant columns of marching men. Apparently Varro is in charge one day and the next day it is Paullus and so forth.

So, I gather, Hannibal nodded. But we must force a battle. We must fight them in a decisive action.

Around Hannibal, the senior Carthaginian commanders remained silent.

Look, Hannibal said, pointing with his finger. If they have combined forces two consular armies would amount to around forty thousand men, but that army over there appears to be significantly larger if I am not mistaken. Maybe double that size. Gisgo, Hannibal added turning to him. Your eyes are better than mine. What numbers do you think the Romans have?

For a moment, Gisgo said nothing as he gazed across the plain at the advancing Roman columns.

Hard to say Sir, Gisgo replied at last, in a tense voice. But there seem to be an awful lot of them. It looks like the largest enemy army that we have ever faced. They appear to outnumber us.

Sat upon his horse, Hannibal was suddenly looking solemn. Then the Carthaginian general turned to give Gisgo a little confident smile.

Yes, there might be a lot of Romans over there, Hannibal said. But none of them are called Gisgo.

As the officers around Hannibal burst out laughing, Gisgo grinned.

If the Romans have mustered such a large army, Hannibal continued confidently glancing around at his officers. It means that they intend to fight. An army like that will be hard to keep together and feed. The Romans will not be able to stay here for long without running out of supplies. This is good.

Turning back to gaze at the advancing Roman army for a moment, Hannibal paused to study his enemy.

Maharbal, he called out at last. I want you to take your Numidians and harass the Roman vanguard. Go now. Slow the Romans down and allow your men to get the measure of their enemy. Show your men that they do not need to fear such a large army. We may be outnumbered, but we are better than them. We are going to win. I want every man to know that in his heart, Hannibal added, solemnly patting his chest with his hand.

***

Savagely crying out to their horses, the Numidians, clutching their light javelins and small round shields tore across the open plain, thundering towards the plodding Roman columns, their horses’ trailing clouds of dust. The small, fast, highly mobile and lightly armed horsemen appeared to be trying to outdo each other - to become the first to engage the enemy - Gisgo thought. As he led his men across the bone-dry plain, he could see that every Numidian cavalry unit was in action, over three and a half thousand horsemen. Strung out along the coastal road from Salapia to Aufidena the Roman advance guard had come to a halt, and as frantic Roman trumpets rang out, the enemy appeared to be milling about in some confusion. Swiftly Gisgo reached for his curved ivory horn that hung around his neck and blew on it, signalling for the attack to commence. There was no need for any further orders. His men were experienced veterans. They knew what to do without having to be told. Moments later the plain was filled with the blaring of numerous Numidian horns, as individual units picked and closed with their targets.

Led by their commanders and formed into their long attack columns, their horses’ hooves beating the earth, the screaming Numidians swept into the attack. As he rapidly closed with the stationary Roman infantry, Gisgo expertly transferred a light javelin to his right hand. Ahead, along the edge of the road, the massed Roman columns, with the men packed tightly together, had turned to face the approaching threat and were hunkering down behind their large oval shields, their spears pointing outwards like the spines of a hedgehog.

Closing in to less than twenty yards, Gisgo picked out a centurion, identifiable by his magnificent red plumed helmet and flung his javelin at the man before sharply veering away from contact and thundering off down the Roman line. Charging on through the clouds of billowing dust and the screaming and yelling, the Numidians followed their commander, in a long fast-moving column and flung their javelins at the stationary Romans, raking them with hundreds upon hundreds of projectiles. It was impossible to see the immediate effect their attack had had, but as he slowed his horse and wheeled around for another attack run, Gisgo could see that the Romans were holding their position. As a gap in the dust appeared and he got a better view, Gisgo bit his lip. A few Romans appeared to have been killed and wounded, but their places had been swiftly filled. Massed behind their protective and interlocking shield wall, most of the Roman infantry remained immune to the volley of javelins.

Blowing on his horn, Gisgo quickly transferred his second javelin to his right hand and began to pick up speed for another attack. But, as he charged towards the stationary Roman battle line a horde of Roman velites, lightly armed skirmishers, clad in exotic headgear and clothing, came rushing out from behind the Roman line, their weapons pointing at him and his men. Swearing at the sudden and unexpected threat, Gisgo immediately broke off his attack, racing away towards safety, as the Roman javelin men and slingers flung a hail of missiles at his men. Wheeling around out of range Gisgo swore again. The Roman velites were a serious threat. He could not close with them without exposing his men to a barrage, which his lightly armoured and protected Numidians were ill equipped to deal with. But he could not retreat. If the Romans were able to drive him off so easily, it would hand them a morale victory. He had to do something.

Milling about around their commander, the Numidian horsemen’s savage battle cries had started to fade. Slowing their small shaggy horses to a walk, the men had turned to gaze across the plain at the stationary Roman columns. The velites, bristling with throwing weapons, had taken up a position in front of their comrades and appeared unwilling to move far from their own infantry. He was not going to be able to lure them away into the open, where he could surround them, Gisgo thought. Frustrated, he turned to look to his right and left as a Roman sling shot went whining past his head. Along the edge of the road, the Numidian cavalry attack had brought the Roman formations to a halt, but hunkering down behind their shield wall, the enemy appeared not to be in the mood to retreat. The Roman infantry formations were not going anywhere. A stalemate was developing. As he peered at the units of Numidian light cavalry harassing the Roman advance guard, Gisgo suddenly spotted a group of Roman cavalrymen advancing towards him.

Swiftly Gisgo wheeled his horse around and blew on his horn. Then ignoring the Roman infantry, he was off - keeping parallel to the road, heading straight towards the Roman cavalry. Thundering across the open country, trailing clouds of dust, the two groups of horsemen swiftly closed with each other in a mad headlong and frontal assault. As he charged towards the Roman equites, Gisgo could see that his opponents were heavier and better armed than his own men, with long spears, coats of chainmail body-armour, round shields, plumed helmets and gleaming leg greaves. The Roman’s horses too were larger and more powerful than his own. The Romans would smash straight through his men, like a wave crashing through a sandcastle, if it came to hand to hand combat. Raising both his hands in the air and using his knees to keep his balance on the back of his galloping horse, Gisgo quickly and silently signalled to his men.

As the two groups of cavalrymen headed for a frontal collision, at the last possible moment Gisgo veered sharply away to the right. Shooting around the Roman flank, he rapidly twisted his body and flung his javelin at the Romans and, from that range it was impossible to miss. And now the agility, superior speed and horsemanship of the Numidian horses and their riders revealed and asserted itself. Splitting into two fast-moving columns, the Numidians swept around the flanks