Both were Carthaginian, or more so, dark-skinned Numidians that served Hannibal on his crusade, and these men were raiders, which were part of a party that had attacked the outstretched Roman supply lines for going on a month now, since the legions left Rome.

The vulnerability to the consuls Paullus and Varro’ vast army was apparent. There simply were not enough men to protect every stretch along the road as the caravans that traveled across it, tasked with feeding the legions, were under constant attack.

Hannibal had tried his usual tactics, which had worked for him against the previous legions sent against him. He kept his troops on the move, using the natural topography of the land to his advantage, and with fewer numbers, around forty thousand, he had been able to stay ahead of the legions that pursued him relentlessly.

Gaius and some of his Wolves had been recently charged with protecting the lines. It was not his preferred duties, but after the cavalry, prefect had been injured during a previous encounter, he had been ordered to take the man’s place until a suitable replacement could be found. And while Gaius preferred marching with the legions, he had always had a knack for horsemanship, which made him a quantified choice.

Gaius closed the gap between him, and his target that he could see the terrified expression on the rear rider’s face as he glanced back once again.

They had belonged to a group of a dozen other riders, but when Gaius’ men broke them, they scattered. He’d given the order for pursuit, and to cut them down. At the moment, however, he feared that he was alone in the chase as he dared not to lose momentum by glancing behind him to see if he was followed by his men.

Reaching back and grabbing one of the three short spears in a satchel behind him, Gaius quickly brought the weapon to bear, holding it high as he aimed, and waiting for his target to come within range. And when he narrowed the gap between him and the two Numidians to less than twenty-five paces, he let loose his spear.

The man in the rear looked back just in time to see Gaius throw his spear. He could do nothing to prevent the point from tearing threw his back, which was unprotected, save for a loose tunic.

Blood shot out his mouth from the force of the spear impacting through him, pushed him forward, which unbalanced the driver who lost control over the horse, which veered violently, throwing both men to the ground, hard.

Gaius’ own momentum carried him past the two riders before he could rear his animal back around.

As he circled, he saw that both were down as the enemy horse quickly trotted away. The man he attacked lay still, his arms and legs bent and twisted, broken from the fall. It would have been painful if he wasn’t already dead.

The second man lied a few feet from the dead man, face down in the tall grass, also not moving.

Gaius slowed his horse before hopping off. He wanted to check and make sure the Numidians were dead, even though neither man was moving.

Gaius removed his sword from its scabbard and slowly began to move towards the man he knew he hadn’t killed. He couldn’t help but notice the sudden quiet. He was in the middle of nowhere, in a large field with knee-high grass as far as he could see. He only heard the sounds of distant birds, and the gentle summer wind blowing through the field. Any other day, he would have taken the time to enjoy such calm and peacefulness.

Gaius inched his way closer to the rider. Suddenly, before he could check to see if the man was dead, the rider leapt to his feet and swung his sword in a violent arch that nearly took Gaius’ head from his shoulders.

Gaius backpedaled quickly, keeping his own sword up in a defensive position as the man, nearly as black as the night sky, grinned at him with bloodied teeth, saying something to him in his native language, but it was only the word, Romanhe understood.

The Numidian was at least twice Gaius’ age and the numerous crisscrossing scars that stood pronounced against his dark features, showed that he was a veteran of many battles, most of which he probably won.

Gaius regained his composure, realizing that he must have looked like a frightened child, and fell back into a fighting stance, as he was trained.

He had killed before, at Trebia, and had trained against many skilled combatants in single combat, but he knew that a legionnaire’s strength wasn’t in one-on-one battle, but in a group: a century, cohort or a legion. The Numidian, on the other hand, had no quarrel about facing Gaius in lone combat. Still, an unwelcome and unfamiliar fear ran up from his stomach and spilled over him like a sickness.

Clearing his head, Gaius tried to bring himself into focus, not thinking about the man’s obvious size, his scars, or the madness that stared at him in the man’s bloodshot eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on dying this day. I’m just letting you know,” Gaius said with the best and bravest grin he could muster. It seemed to work as the over-confident warrior rushed, attacking first.

Gaius moved to his right as the Numidian struck high.

Easily, the man rebounded from his first failed attack and came at Gaius with the same determination, countering with a wide horizontal swing that he must have hoped would throw the younger Roman off balance, but Gaius, to even his surprise, kept pace with the older man. He had done this so many times, both in practice and war that his reactions were second nature.

Parrying one blow, Gaius instantly felt the dominant vibration run through his hands, up to his arms and into his chest, where his heart beat furiously. The dark-skinned man was powerful, but he lacked form and proper control.

The larger and heavier sword hit Gaius’ smaller gladius time and time again, but each time, he was wearing himself down as he was confident in his strength.

Gaius wished he hadn’t, but he couldn’t help but scream in pain as a wayward sword blow finally struck home, as the tip of the Numidians blade sliced just under his shoulder garment.

Blood drizzled down from the open wound as the Numidian couldn’t help but laugh, as he said something that Gaius assumed was mocking in his native tongue.

Gaius ignored the sensation of his blood running down his arm, as well as the Numidian’s mocking as squared himself for more savage blows.

Think, Gaius. You’ve faced bigger men than this one before,Gaius thought to himself. He was no small man himself, but there had been others larger than he during his training with the Sixth, men like his now dead friend Agrippa.

The Numidian attack again, yelling at the top of his lungs as he swung for Gaius’ head, however, the blow came up short as the younger Roman dove out of the blade’s path, and quickly rose back to his feet.

Gaius kept his distance from the Numidian who attacked once more, but again, Gaius failed to meet his challenge as the man swung with the force to bring down a tree.

The Numidian screamed, yelling something fowl as his frustration was painted over his face.

Gaius smiled as he began to understand that this man had a short temper, and had difficulty controlling it. He wanted a proper fight, to prove he was stronger and better than his Roman opponent. However, war wasn’t fair, as Hannibal had proven already, so Gaius played the part as he grinned wide, making sure to keep easy distance from the Numidian.

“Come now, old man, can’t you keep up?” Gaius mocked, which the Numidian seemed to understand, at least the meaning from Gaius’ amused tone.

The Numidian rushed forward with his sword held over his head, screaming with rage as he brought the blade down. Again, however, Gaius moved from the man’s path.

Seeing an opening, Gaius struck quickly. The wound he caused was superficial, as he drew a line of red across the flat of the Numidian’s back.