Christopher Buckner - Swords of Rome

Hannibal was not what Gaius had expected. Rumors were many: He was a giant of a man standing fifteen feet tall. He wore armor fashioned by the gods rendering him indestructible. He had the gift of foresight, so he knew in advance how to defeat any army sent against him, and that his sword possessed the souls of every man whom Rome had slaughtered in its history. Many more legends had surrounded him, but what Gaius saw now, seated on horseback before the most celebrated Roman general of this era, was not the villain he had pictured.

Hannibal was no small man. He had a large build and broad shoulders; clearly, he trained to be a warrior from birth. Despite his fame among his own people, he was not dressed in the attire of an officer or nobleman but was far less expensive and impressive. He was covered by a simply-made leather chest piece, which was worn and badly scratched from decades of use. He wore no helmet; numerous scars lined his bald head and rough face. His horse was no different than the animal that his senior officers rode. His sword, which was longer than a Roman blade but made from the same Spanish iron, hung low on his left hip. It seemed generations old, and had probably been handed down from father to son.

Most noticeable, and perhaps the only truth among the rumors, was that he had one eye. His right eye, having been lost, was covered by a black leather patch: proof, at the least, that he was indeed mortal.

To Gaius’ surprise, he found that Hannibal was not the cold bloodthirsty monster as had been described: horned head, breathing fire, harden scales on his flesh, dragon wings, standing the height of five men. He was a man, to be sure. He could see in his posture and carriage the same confidence and sense of duty and honor that Gaius had admired in many men. What hatred for Rome and its people that boiled, deep down, in the recesses of his soul, could not be seen — but was surely just below the surface.

Hannibal broke the long awkward silence first as he tilted his head in a respectful manner.

“It is an honor to meet you, General Scipio,” he spoke in perfect Latin; his voice easily carried over the desert floor.

Scipio had no kind remarks to exchange with his rival. He moved his horse back and forth while Hannibal remained still. What this display of power was doing to Scipio’s mind, Gaius could only imagine. If it was apprehension, Scipio did not show any signs.

“What are your terms?” Scipio demanded, louder than Gaius had ever heard him speak before this day.

Hannibal smiled at Scipio’s blunt speech.

“You have come a long way. Many soldiers have given their lives to defend your Republic bravely, I might add. There is no need for us to sacrifice the lives of our men further — not today, and hopefully never again.”

Scipio smiled as he reined in his horse and learned forward over his saddle, crossing his arms over the pommel.

“You wish to surrender then?”

Hannibal managed a faint smile. “No. I only convey my government’s terms.”

“Then enough with your pitiful pleasantries, I grow bored. Let us finish this tiresome conversation and tell me your terms,” Scipio repeated.

Gaius could plainly see Hannibal’s officers’ displeasure at Scipio’s disrespect. They held their place a few feet behind their general and dared not interrupt the proceedings.

“My Senate has issued the following terms for Rome: To end the war between our nations, once and for all, Carthage offers Rome full control over the Spanish territories, plus Sicily, Sardinia, and a guarantee that neither, I, nor my country, will ever again raise arms against Rome or its allies, directly or indirectly. Along with these terms, the Senate agrees to pay your Republic an annual sum of fifteen million aureus for the next ten years,” Hannibal seemed to force his words between his gritted teeth as if someone was forcing him to say them against his will.

Scipio’s smile widened as he positioned his horse closer to Hannibal before he gave his reply.

“My dear general, Rome already controls these lands. We took them, from you and your brother, or has your memory faded in your waning years?” Scipio let his mocking words sink in before he continued.

Hannibal grunted at him with contempt, but maintained his composure.

“My army is at your country’s doorstep. I think, general that I will bring my terms to your Senate personally, once I have razed Carthage to the ground, and disbanded this excuse for an army you have brought to meet me.”

Hannibal leaned closer to Scipio. “You forget that my army lies between you and Carthage,” Hannibal replied with an icy glare.

“Oh, it does, does it?” Scipio replied.

“You would be foolish to sacrifice your life, and the lives of your men. Do you do this in an attempt to defeat me on my own soil for the sake of glory or reward? If so, don’t be a fool, Roman, when needless bloodshed can be avoided. What my government has offered you are more land and wealth than your Republic could have hoped to achieve in a hundred years. Take the offer and remove your forces from my country with the satisfaction that you have won. Your celebrity is assured.”

“Oh, my fame will be earned when you rabble has been ground into the dirt, general.”

“Hannibal smiled. “You know who I am. I doubt that you have brought anything I have not faced, and crushed, before,” Hannibal sneered.

“And you know who I am. When you are defeated, I will have earned more fame and wealth than I can imagine. It will make me immortal in the eyes of my people. However, that is not why I refuse your offer.”

Scipio drew closer to Hannibal, his words low and hard — the bitterness in his voice conveyed the anger of millions who had suffered since Hannibal started the war years ago.

“You brought this war to my people, to my homeland — and for what? You have killed so many, entire villages, cities, generations of people, and for what?”

Of course, Hannibal did not answer.

“You came to my homeland for your own glory, which was fueled by hatred against people who never offended you personally. You destroyed much, and have taken many lives, and none of it was for your people, your country, or for justice — only for your selfish ends. You are a monster, Hannibal whose terror will end today. I will destroy your army, and with it, your legacy. There can be no other way to end this war.”

“Then that is how it must be.”

A smile appeared on Scipio’s face as he sealed the fate of his men. He stood, higher in the saddle, as he presented Rome’s official response to Hannibal’s terms.

“General, I’m afraid that on the behalf of the Senate, the People, and the Republic of Rome, I cannot accept, in good conscience the offer that your government has proposed.”

Hannibal sneered with an annoyed grunt as he pulled the reins of his horse, forcing the animal to turn as he prepared to rejoin his troops.

“You are either brave, or very foolish. History will decide which.”

Scipio turned and rode past each of his waiting officers who followed one-by-one. However, Gaius noticed that one of Hannibal’s men had not turned and joined his general, but remained seated on his horse, staring at him with a sinister grin — dangling in his massive fist was an object that he recognized immediately.

Gaius’ right hand flew down to the hilt of his sword at the sight the clay medallion that dangled on a leather string between the soldier’s fingers, seemly taunting him with it. However, he steadied himself, slowly taking his hand off from his sword. To draw it while the Carthaginian and Roman generals were still on the field would have violated the brief truce.

“My dear friend, it has been so long since last we met,” Calfax’s voice was harsh and mocking. His Latin was bad, every word spoken as if it were an insult.