“You are too slow. You should have stayed in Africa and fought men of equal value as yourself, my friend.” Gaius felt odd speaking as he was. It wasn’t in his nature so rude, but his tactic seemed to be doing its trick. With the hot summer’s sun overhead, and the heavy sword in the Numidian’s hand, he was beginning to sweat buckets as he struggled with each new attack, as his reactions lessened.

Again, with another murderous roar, the Numidian lunged forward, but this time the man’s fatigue was getting the better of him as his speed was drastically reduced. It was hot, and while Gaius was weighed down by his armor, he wasn’t as bothered by the dry air.

As the dark-skinned warrior was sweating profusely, his grip on his sword loosened, held lower with each attack. His chest heaved with considerable effort, yet stood, refusing to withdraw his and fight on the defensive, to conserve energy.

Gaius saw his opportunity.

“You come to my land, my country, and bring war,” Gaius yelled as he moved closer, waiting for his opening. “Why, to murder my people in a war not of our making? Your people are cowards, and will one-day face judgment for the lives you have taken!”

The man did not like what he was hearing, obviously, to some degree he understood what Gaius was saying as sounded repeatedly what seemed like the same word, none of which Gaius understood. It did not matter, regardless; Gaius was done with this fight.

As the heavy Numidian sword came crashing down, striking the earth with a savage blow, driving nearly a full foot into the soft soil, Gaius dodged a moment earlier as the blade came rushing past him. He danced around his opponent and saw his opening: the Numidian’s exposed ribcage, where Gaius drove all twenty-four inches of his sword into the Numidian’s chest.

The Numidian screamed in agony, baring his teeth like a caged beast as Gaius’ sword was quickly withdrawn from his torso.

The man tried to strike at Gaius with what remaining strength he had left, but again, the Roman easily ducked under the counterattack.

Dark crimson blood poured out from the wound, which the man’s hastily tried to cover with his freed hand. Gaius had missed the heart, which he had been aiming for, but the angle prevented him from dealing a quick blow. No matter, his opponent was done, both knew it.

The Numidian began to stagger as his color turned a ghostly shade of choky blue. An artery had been severed, that much Gaius knew as his opponent seemed to be no longer aware of where he was standing.

For a moment, as the man dropped his sword, Gaius thought about leaving him as he stood — let the man bleed out. However, he could not bring himself to do so.

Moving carefully toward the Numidian, Gaius aimed the tip of his sword for his opponent’s throat. Slowly, but effectively he drove his sword into the man’s gullet. The act was easy as the Numidian’s eyes opened wide.

The Numidian’s eyes rolled back into his head as he tumbled over, his body twitching violently for several long seconds, before finally he was still.

Gaius breathed deeply as he stared down at the man he killed. He felt nothing, to his own surprise. It was not like Trebia, as he had been horrified by battle and seeing his brothers floating down the icy river. He had done as he had been trained. He bested a superior foe in combat, but he felt no joy in the act, or pity for the man.

A moment later four Roman riders trotted up behind Gaius, happy to see the two dead warriors at his feet. Right away, they congratulated him as the leapt down from their horses, wanting to hear the details. Gaius, however, said nothing beyond ordering his men to mount and ride back to their patrol. A moment later, looking down at the men he’d killed, Gaius pondered the action a moment longer, as he wondered if these men left anyone to their name, far from the foreign soil they had invaded.

It did not matter Gaius decided. He was content to let them rot in the sun, and be eaten by the birds then to ponder these men’s lives a moment longer.

As the sun moved over the horizon, Gaius and twenty of his men, all of them tired from a weeklong patrol, safeguarding the supply-lines, were finally in sight of the Roman camp, much to their relief.

The consul army had been moving from day-to-day, tracking Hannibal and his forces for weeks. At the moment, they seemed to have cornered him near the town of Cannae, which Gaius knew had to be a bad sign for Rome, as the town hosed an important supply depot.

Gaius did not know the logistics at this time, but he figured that Hannibal must have taken the town purposefully. At least now Rome knew where he was.

As Gaius observed briefly during his short ride through the camp, the plains surrounding Cannae offered neither side any advantage — it was flat, mostly featureless with a few low-lying hills covered by dried grass. Gaius hoped the field, if battle was soon to start wouldn’t allow Hannibal to try his tricks. A pitched battle was what Rome had been seeking, and now it seems they’ve gotten it.

Already thousands to torches lit the Roman camp, making it look like a small town among the sea of stars, which were just now starting to break through the night sky as the sun disappeared below the western horizon. A few miles away he could just barely make out the glow from Hannibal’s camp and while considerably less bright, it still stood as a stark reminder of the apparent threat.

“I guess Hannibal has finally stopped running,” Maurus commented as he hadn’t turned his head from Cannae since they reached the plain.

“So it would seem so,” Gaius replied.

“A shame really. If we were going to give him Cannae and all the supplies within its walls, we could have spent the last few days doing something better with our time than patrolling the supply caravans. Bloody ridiculous,” Maurus snorted his frustration.

“Indeed,” Gaius replied. He felt the same but did not voice his opinion as openly as his subordinate. He was just thankful to be back among his people, and happy that he hadn’t lost any of his men during the deployment. They had been in three engagements, counting the skirmish this afternoon as Hannibal’s raiders had been picking off any foraging party and supply convoy they could find. The toll had been heavy on those unprotected as one hundred thousand men needed mountains of food and water to remain affective.

The rumbling in Gaius’ stomach reminded him that he needed food as well, so he did not prolong his ride to the camp a moment longer.

Hours later Gaius had been ready to bed down for the night once he rejoined the rest of the Sixth Legion when he was called by an aide who had been instructed to tell him that his presence was requested at a gathering of senior officers. Now, with the full moon hanging high over his head, Gaius walked through a series of large tents that had been erected at the center of the camp.

“Going my way?” Valerius called from behind him.

“It is to the viper’s nest I suppose, we might journey together,” Gaius replied with a wide smile.

“It is good to see you back. I trust all went well?”

“Nothing that couldn’t be handled with a good sword and a fast horse, which I have both,” Gaius replied. “It would seem that you’ve had troubles of your own.”

“Indeed. Hannibal took Cannae two days ago, and the grain storage we had in there. As a result, we’ve put our men on tight ration. I’m afraid what is arriving by caravan isn’t enough to sustain us for very long.”

“It is good to know that my work was for nothing,” Gaius sneered with a mocking tone. “Aren’t the consuls going to confront Hannibal?” he asked.

“We’ve tried, but that snake won’t come out of his hole. For now, he seems bent on standing between us and breakfast. In the meantime, his riders continue to harass our foraging parties, apparently hoping to starve us out of food and water.”