Hannibal Magnus: Book I

By Dan Fozzard and Robert Geringer

More died in one day than in any other day until Hiroshima, and only one man was responsible; not Caesar, Genghis Khan, not even Hitlert—but Hannibal!

In Hannibal Magus: Book I, go back in time to join the great Carthaginian military leader as a treasure of collected writings by a member of Hannibal’s staff is discovered in modern times in the Italian Alps. A compelling historical fiction novel that gives detail and voice to a tumultuous epoch in both ancient and military history, these eyewitness accounts of the Second Punic War chronicle Hannibal’s decent into Italy as he defeats the Roman legions and sends Rome into a crisis. Will the Roman leadership’s unorthodox solution to the military genius of Hannibal—defeating him by not fighting—save the army and preserve the Republic? Or will it set the stage for an epic showdown between Hannibal and his forty thousand mercenaries and the Roman legions?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jul 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483450322

Book preview

HANNIBAL

MAGNUS

BOOK I

DAN FOZZARD AND ROBERT GERINGER

Copyright © 2016 Daniel M. Fozzard and Robert Geringer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Scripture quotations taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, Copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5031-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5033-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5032-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016905989

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 06/29/2016

Contents

Part I The Find

The Find

The River

The Lake

The Dictator

The Commission

Julia

Part II Cannae

Varro

Order of Battle

Cannae

Aftermath

Oath

Carthalo’s Mission

About the Authors

A WORD ON THE SECOND EDITION. Hannibal Magnus was meant to be a four part series but upon further consideration I viewed Hannibal’s achievements in Italy in two phases, the first phase included all that happened up to and concluding with the battle at Cannae. The second phase were all the events after Cannae leading up to and including the battle at Zama. So, I have combined what was to be Book II, into Book I, and what was to be Books III and IV into one volume as Hannibal Magnus Book II. Are you sufficiently confused?

Part I

THE FIND

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"Of all that befell both the Romans and Carthaginians,

the cause was one man, and one mind -Hannibal’s." Polybius

The Find

T HE EXECUTIVE HELICOPTER HAD TOUCHED down in a clearing, its rotors beating against the cold air. The sun arched high over the towering Alps of Italy’s northern frontier. Two people waited in the clearing, an older man, Professor Pierce the eminent archaeologist and leading authority on ancient Mediterranean cultures and his assistant, a young graduate student, Liz Johnson, both casually dressed for field work.

They approached the waiting helicopter. As the crew chief, in a green flight suit, yelled over the pounding rotors, Professor Pierce?

Yes, he answered. The crew chief motioned the two in.

Once in and seated, they were met by another well dressed man in a black suit and tie.

He held out his hand and said in his thick Italian accent,

I am Vincenzo Broghese, from the Department of Interior. So good to meet you. they shook hands.

And my assistant, He introduced but held back her name. A beautiful Italian girl fashionably dressed in a dark business suit. Her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders. Her stiletto high heels a clear indication she was employed for a different kind of field work. She glanced at the two Americans with a furtive look absorbed, not in state affairs but in filing her nails.

It is most fortunate that you are here at this time, said Borghese.

Can you tell me what you found?

I’m afraid all I can tell you is that a peculiar stone structure was discovered by a road crew. A team from the university was called to investigate.

Who is leading the excavation? Borghese looked through a file on his lap and found a document, holding it up he read,

Doctor Bocelli.

Ah, one of my students.

He insisted we secure your expertise in this.

Do you remember him Professor? Johnson asked.

On a side fold-out table, attached to the interior of the helicopter, refreshments had been provided. Johnson, sat furthest from the table and had to reach over the Professor for a bowl of peanuts. Borghese, quick to help a damsel in distress, was quick to go to her aid and handed her the bowl.

Grazi Johnson said, smiling. A sneer appeared on the face of Borghese’s assistant as her boss’s attention had momentarily turned from her.

Oh, yes, I remember him. He’s not one for wild goose chases. said Pierce as Johnson nodded hungrily munching on the nuts.

The season for road maintenance, at this altitude, is very short, said Borghese as he reached for the snacks, smiling at Johnson.

The Italian beauty glared at Johnson. Borghese took a handful of nuts and continued with a mouthful of food.

The highway department would like to continue repairing the road but as you might guess the law requires it be done without disturbing a significant find. We are hoping that you can evaluate the importance of it.

The Professor grabbed the cup of nuts and took the last handful. I don’t know why Bocelli would insist on me? Pierce mused as he looked through the window, It’s probably just a shrine to some local deity.

Or an old Roman mile marker? offered Johnson.

Borghese’s assistant finally went for the food. Finding only a few nuts left in the bowl, she settled for them and daintily inserted the few into her immaculately painted mouth. In spite of her effort, she smeared her lipstick. Borghese, always the gentleman, pointed it out to her subtly. Embarrassed she took a compact from her handbag, and subtly wiped her lips.

Borghese, settled the dispute, It’s a sarcophagus, that’s what I’ve been told.

Now you’ve got my attention, said Pierce.

Intrigued by the scenery of the Alps, Liz Johnson gazed out the window. Sure is beautiful.

Professor Pierce, joined her, Beautiful and bloody. Through one of those passes Hannibal made his crossing.

As the helicopter flew through the mountains, Johnson daydreamed. Below she imagined a snowy trail of blood through the forbidding pass. An ancient, hardened, primitive army sloughed their way higher and higher leading horse and mule trains. She saw, in her mind’s eye, carriages of weapons pulled by mules, countless soldiers on foot, plodding through the snow, men on horseback in ranks and columns and elephants! She saw Hannibal’s army!

Borghese added, You are right Professor, but no one knows which of those passes he took.

Johnson envisioned the corpses of men and animals frozen in the snow sprawled out along the trail. A fierce battle raged among the mountain’s peaks and valleys as Hannibal’s troops assaulted tribesmen as they scurried from rock to cave lobbing their arrows and hiding again. An elephant slipped on the trail and fell over a cliff taking it’s riders with it.

Professor Pierce, opened his brief case and started to look for some papers.

By the way Liz, have you finished those research papers for me?

Mesmerized in her imagination, she didn’t hear the Professor. Liz? He called, Liz? She finally heard him,

I’m sorry, what?

The research papers? He repeated. The dating technology?

Yes, back at the office.

The pilot reduced power, allowing the helicopter to descend. Ah, we’re here, said Borghese, and looking out the window. His assistant quickly primped herself in anticipation of being seen by other men. It hovered over a clearing then gently touched down.

The scenic alpine landscape was marred by the presence of heavy equipment, tractors and graders. A half dozen young and middle-aged men milled about the machinery lazily. They talked casually and smoked heavily. Borghese, and Pierce exited. Borghese waited at the door and helped Johnson out. The unexpected arrival of a woman to their male-world of construction alerted the lusty Italian men which caused a stir- until the pretty assistant exited.

The men, true to their caste of rough men who work in the dirt, began their chant of cat calls and wolf whistles. Energized by this overt male attention the assistant added swagger to her hips as she approached them, but her temporary feminine exaltation ended when she stumbled, in her stilettos, in the dirt. The men snickered at her embarrassment as she recovered her composure. Johnson, inured from such low brow signs of male interest, paid no attention to the men.

The construction crew foreman, a small wiry middle-aged man, along with the young Dr. Bocelli, met the entourage.

Professor Pierce, am I glad to see you, said Bocelli, and shook his hand excitedly.

Ciao, Mario, good to see you again. The foreman held out his hand to Pierce as Bocelli introduced him,

This is the man responsible for discovering the find, the foreman.

"Salute," said the foreman, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip.

So, what do you have to show me?

"We had to work around this for days, it is molto particulare," said the foreman, in his thick Italian accent. Borghese translated,

Very peculiar.

Come on, said Bocelli, as he impatiently led them to the find. The entourage followed Bocelli and the foreman to the side of a hill.

The pretty assistant, more interested in the men, decided to join them instead. Intimidated by her boldness, the men calmed their hoots as she casually sauntered toward them. Gladdened, the men surrounded and offered her a smoke which she took. A younger handsome man lit it for her.

As the entourage neared the dig site, Professor Pierce and Johnson approached reverently. The area had been roped off. Pierce paused to look inside a small cave and observed carvings in a rock.

I’ve seen something like this before. Johnson, crowded close to Pierce to look,

It’s not Roman or Greek, could it be Etruscan? added Johnson.

Pierce studied the inscriptions intently, I was a grad student on a dig in Tunis. We recovered a crypt that had markings similar to this, he said softly. Then with a look of awareness, It’s Punic!

Punic? gasped Johnson.

Pierce, too excited to answer, motioned.

Quick, hand me a note pad!

She reached in her satchel and fumbled around for and found her note pad and pencil. Pierce started translating, scribbling down words, then scratching out some, frustrated at the difficulty of translating the ancient script. After several moments passed he stopped.

Well? asked Johnson. Borghese and Bocelli waited anxiously. Pierce, tried to contain his elation. "I think this is what it says:

‘Listen, Romans, and you who disturb this tomb. May the curse of Melqart visit you: Others shall be spit upon you, a donkey shall violate your wife. Your heart shall find no peace in life, because I am favored by my Lord.’

The entourage stood in hushed reverence. What could it mean? asked Borghese.

It is a warning! remarked Bocelli.

Colorful curses! added Johnson.

Bocelli lit a flashlight and pointed it at a corner of the sarcophagus, Professor, look here.

Pierce looked, his eyes adjusted to the low light then, Good god!

What, what is it? Johnson was impatient, What do you see? She moved to get a better look in the crack.

There’s a skeleton, and armor! He panned the light left and right. There’s a metallic something … wait! There’s a whole panoply.

Pierce sat back on his haunches. Johnson took the light and looked in. Bocelli was pleased while the foreman shook his head at Borghese.

After gaining his composure, Pierce took back the light and panned around again. He stopped when he saw a glitter. On the skeleton’s hand, he focused, paused then turned to Borghese, Close the site!

Madre del Deo! said the foreman flinging his arms in the air and stomping away.

A car drove up to the entrance of the science wing of Milan University. Professor Pierce and Johnson got out. They were well dressed and carried briefcases. An assembly of reporters swarmed them as they headed to the entrance.

One reporter, holding her cell phone up called out: Professor Pierce, can you tell us what you’ve found? Pierce and Johnson headed for the doors, but called back, It’s too early to tell with any certainty.

Another reporter butted in: Is it a treasure?

Another asked, Is it another Ice Man, a UFO or a …?

The other reporters laughed. Another in exasperation added, Come on Professor, I have a deadline to meet, can’t you give us something to write?

Pierce, sympathetic of their persistence answered,

Initial analysis indicates the sarcophagus is of an ancient origin possibly the second or third century B.C. It bears the marks of Phoenician design characteristic of burial practices of that time. The contents are well preserved.

This caused murmuring among the group of reporters. Was there anything in the sarcophagus? One asked.

A male skeleton who died at an old age. He was buried in armor dated in the same time period, not Roman.

If not Roman, then what? asked another. Pierce turned to Johnson, the reporters focused on the young lady, their cell phones and Ipods recording.

There were several civilizations vying for this territory at that time; Gauls, Carthaginians, and of course the Romans. But based on certain indicators, we believe he was a Carthaginian nobleman.

Can you tell anything from the bones?

Yes, forensic results conclude that he died in his eighties or nineties. There were several minor wounds to the skeletal structure consistent with edged weapons.

Professor Pierce held open the door as Johnson entered. The last reporter asked, Anything else? Pierce paused at the door, and with a whimsical look,

Oh yes! There was one curious fact, for a non- Roman, He was wearing the gold ring of a Roman consul!

Professor Pierce entered the building leaving the reporters anxious for more.

Pierce and Johnson entered the laboratory. There was an odd mix of smells in the air of alcohol and earth, a musky, ancient smell of mildew.

A skeleton was laid out on a slab. Technicians in white lab coats stood around it analyzing the subject. On a nearby table the panoply of armor was laid out including a bronze breast plate with reliefs of deities and nude women frolicking together. A Greek style sword, with its bronze handle still intact. A large round shield, of the Greek Hoplite type with an emblem of Pegasus, the flying horse, emblazoned on the front. The helmet was of the open, full-faced, Macedonian type with engravings of a young man and nymph reclining nude by the water, its crest, aligned front to back with small openings for a horse’s mane to be inserted; of which most had decayed. There was an atmosphere of suppressed excitement as each specialist studied the objects of their expertise.

On a separate table, a gilded wooden box was being analyzed by another tech. The lid was opened as he removed scrolls carefully and setting them aside.

That’s it. said he as another tech took the scrolls.

Professor Pierce left the office and followed the scrolls leaving Johnson in the lab.

Professor Pierce left off following the assistant and stopped at an office. The door had the name Dr. Valentine, painted on it, underneath the name, the title, Archivist.

Pierce entered the office to find the doctor sitting at a table. A frumpy fifty - something lady with graying hair. She was a spinster passed her prime that revealed an unspoken grief etched into her face by the wrinkles it now bore. Her solitary nights became lonely vigils devoted to her only companions- the ancient documents- with whom she shared her private and tormented solitude.

She wore dark reading glasses and had an odd habit of resting the lead of her pencil on her lip.

Hello Kim! said Pierce. She looked up and with a smile of recognition,

Well, if it isn’t my old friend Les! Come in, come in! He did and had a seat next to her.

It’s been some time. How long? Two maybe three years? asked Pierce.

Um, let’s see, you were here two years ago.

Good memory.

I’m good with dates, she shrugged.

So, what have you learned?

She removed her glasses, revealing her distressed eyelids, and put her pencil down.

Les, I can’t begin to tell you what this discovery has done, for the field and for me!

That’s fantastic! The other disciplines have had some profound revelations too. Has your translation shown anything?

It’s simply remarkable.

So, the scrolls were still legible?

Surprisingly! We’ve been fortunate that conditions were nearly perfect for preserving the tomb’s contents.

Have you discovered the identity?

Oh yes! But I’m really involved with a delicate phrase right now and I can’t lose my focus. Valentine apologized. If you come by my place tonight, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned, the ‘unofficial’ version. I’ve invited a few friends.

Gonna keep us all in suspense, huh? Not even a little bit?

Valentine ignored his plea and turned back to her work adding, Be there at seven.

Pierce watched her absentmindedly as she scrutinized the text,

"Den Brethekan Lexeis, Den Brethekan lexeis," she repeated over and over.

A quiet reverie came over him as started an inner dialogue, `the years have been unkind to her,’ he thought, `her skin- wrinkled, her breasts- shrunken …’

Eureka! She yelled excitedly, intruding on his self absorption. She scribbled in her notebook-lost in thought, then mumbled some more,

"How could I be so stupid? Den Brethekan lexis is Greek for Cunctator!"

She looked at him expecting understanding. She smiled and laughed to herself lost in her world of words and ideas.

Of course, she went on mumbling softly, " Moratoris is not Cunctator but close, oh so close!"

`Still doing that,’ he thought again, `a tangled mishmash of languages.’

Amused, Pierce got up and shuffled out unnoticed.

Pierce and Johnson arrived at seven. Valentine lived in a cozy bungalow, not far from the university. Her house, a gallery of artifacts to her academic interest, bookshelves lined the walls crammed with books now useless through dust and moths. Faded flaky papers covered with indecipherable signs were stuffed in every available spot among the books or stacked in columns lining the walls.

Permeating the air was the odor of dead flowers and musky books. Around the living room, white columns, waist high, held up ceramic statues of the busts of famous Greeks and Romans belonging to epochs long ago.

A light snow began to fall outside. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Ten of Valentine’s friends milled around, snacking on foods, and talking softly.

Dr. Valentine spoke with Colonel Davis off to the side. Davis was a sixty-something retired British Officer. Pierce and Johnson, entered.

Hello Les, Oh! You have a guest? Well, come in, make yourselves comfortable, there are snacks on the table.

Pierce, instead of sitting went to her, Johnson following behind. Valentine introduced them,

Les, I’d like you to meet Colonel Davis. He’s a military historian. The two men shook hands.

Good to meet you.

How do you do? Answered Davis.

Professor Pierce is the lead archaeologist on this find.

Oh? Quite a discovery. replied Davis in his heavy Kentish English accent.

Yes, it’s filled in some gaps to our knowledge of those times. I hope Dr. Valentine’s translation will add a little more.

I think it will surprise you. Valentine said grinning.

Intrigued by the gruff looking British gentleman, Johnson couldn’t take her eyes off him and finally asked, Excuse me, sir, do you teach somewhere?

The older proper gentleman smiled, Sandhurst, have you heard of it? She shook her head no. Valentine introduced the others as faculty and students.

Pierce, one of those types that preferred to stand in sitting situations and making others uncomfortable in that practice, chose to stand by the fireplace within easy reach of the snack table. Johnson found a place on the couch. Both the coffee and dinner tables were stacked with paper plates and cups with snacks in various bowls. Johnson grabbed for the snacks at the coffee table and made herself comfortable. Valentine sat in her reading chair. She took out her glasses and a stack of papers.

Les, before I read the translation, I’d like to ask you if there is any way these documents could have been planted?

"I don’t know how, as soon as the crew found the tomb, we were there within a day. Besides, there are more than 40 specialists working on this project. We’ve received analysis from forensic examiners and diplomatists who date the papyrus, and the ink, to the second and third centuries B.C. Our historical armorers matched the weapons to those existent in the first century Mediterranean cultures.

It’s pretty certain they were buried in the Alps for at least two thousand years. Is there some reason to doubt the parchments authenticity?"

No, said Valentine, it’s just that you won’t believe what you’re going to hear. The guests settled in for the story.

Before I go on, I’ve asked Col Davis here to be part of this because he teaches military history and is an expert in the period relevant to this archaeological find. Col. Davis, would you describe to us the world as it was around the third century B.C.

He adjusted himself in his chair, I’d be happy to. Everyone faced him.

Davis cleared his throat and began,

"During the climactic century two hundred years before the coming of Christ, two great civilizations would struggle for mastery of the Mediterranean. Ancient foes bent on the other’s destruction, the fate of which the world since then has been unmistakably altered. The powerful and venerable Carthage made rich by her trade; harboring more than warships within its environs but primal mysteries of fire gods, bloody rites and tragic ceremonies.

To be challenged by the youthful and rowdy, upstart Rome, the influence of whose Republic, through its novel government and just laws made it the envy of all Italy.

Carthage with its idyllic harbor jutting out from the barren deserts of North Africa into the cool blue waters of the Mediterranean, filled with as much of the world’s cargo as it thronged with the souls of men.

Sending its ships, great and small stuffed to the gunwales with cargos. Plying azure seas to the rich coastal cities of verdant Sicily, rocky coasted Greece- the hub of learning and culture and the burning sands of ageless Egypt, the breadbasket of the Mediterranean. To Spain the prize over which these two titans would engage in the most brutal phase of their life and death cataclysm.

And Rome’s legions, fanning out beyond their borders, realizing for the first time their strength, overcame all opposition throughout the length and breadth of Italy’s boot. A strength the world had not yet seen but would soon feel as it came under Rome’s iron heel. Defeating its mortal enemy first then stretching out to put the whole known world in subjugation."

Thank you Col. Davis, that summarized it nicely.

My pleasure, doctor, he said with a wink that only Johnson caught because of where she was seated, and thought to herself that there was something going on with the ‘spinster and the Colonel.’

What I am about to read, Valentine went on, are the memoirs of an old man. They are his reminisces of his youth as a soldier. The text is readable in most places, although some parts are badly damaged. Her guests grew still more quiet. The fire cracked in the background as she organized her notes and began to read,

"I am Aeneas of Carthage, named after the Trojan hero whose tragic fate washed him upon our shores long ago. I’m now in my 80th year and in declining health.

I begin my story over 60 years ago. I was 20, then and green when I joined the general staff of my cousin who had just been appointed governor of Spain. Not long after did we set off on our great crusade.

We all thought it would be a short campaign. A few victories, a city fallen here and there the suing for peace, new treaties drawn up and we would be back home.

Little did we know that we would spend the prime of our lives here in this land and many never to see their homes again. The world has changed dramatically since the events I am about to relate.

My people have been murdered and enslaved. My ancestral lands confiscated and my gods dishonored. The enemy paints my people as cannibals, decadent and lecherous. It is a Roman world now. Even the great empire of Alexander has bent the knee to Rome.

As I write this, forces are gathering to destroy my homeland. The Roman juggernaut sweeps away all before it. Because it is