The pain seemed to be numbed as his face was caked with mud, but as he rolled over onto his back, the moment he tried to move his arm, all he could do was scream out again.

Before the gladiator could hit him again with a second well aimed shot, the man was impaled three times by Roman spears, as a group of riders saw Valerius go down and instantly redirected their attacks to defend their leader.

Two men leaped down from their horses and covered Valerius with their shields without hesitation to the danger they were putting themselves in. Right away, a number of arrows and spears hit their shields. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones that saw Valerius go down. If his men hadn’t acted as quickly as they had he would be dead already.

Soon the two were joined by a dozen more. They created a wall that was impenetrable.

Two men appeared behind Valerius. Worry in their eyes they pulled him out from under the Romans who shielded him. He seemed a bit dazed as he stared up at his officers who continuously called for him. Only then did he realize that they were trying to get him to respond, to gauge how hurt he was. With the arrow shaft broken none could see where he had been hit, and the large cake of mud that covered him obstructed any signs of blood.

One of the officers signaled for a horse and rider to carry Valerius out of the battle. He suddenly felt very embarrassed at his vulnerability. His people weren’t supposed to see him like this and every second they spent trying to safeguard him, they put themselves in more danger as the battle continued around them. More so, however, he felt ashamed. He lost his mind in the heat of the battle. He trained his Wolves for years not to give into their natural desires during combat and remain level headed, but for the first time in many decades, he had returned to his youth — those foolish years of his brash arrogance that had wounded and eventually killed his best friend Julius, Gaius’ father, when he was too stubborn and believed he was immortal. However, he was not young anymore and his slower reaction and diminished senses had finally caught up to him.

He slumped over the horse’s back, barely aware that he was up off of the ground. Another Roman had the horse’s reins tied to his own. A few moments later the sounds of fighting became distant. And a minute more Valerius was unconscious.

Gaius walked among the dead and dying. The bodies, men, women and even children, choked the ground. Those that weren’t dead but badly mane, were put to the sword. A dozen men went about that ghoulish work, a few taking more joy in it than he would have liked to see out of his people. Some managed to escape the battle, fleeing into the surrounding hills. He wanted to give chase, but he didn’t have the men to spare, or the time His principal concern, as he looked down at the dead, was finding Calfax. He hoped that the old gladiator had been among those to fall. So far he'd been unlucky.

He knew Calfax was not among the hundred or so prisoners who had surrendered, and he prayed to the gods that he hadn’t escaped. However, with each passing hour, he feared that might have been the case. Regardless, the deed was done. Calfax’s army was broken; a minor victor among so many defeats.

The sun had rising some time ago; the warm morning air did not bring comfort. Despite this victory, time was against Gaius and his men. Hannibal’s army was still out there, superior in every way, and while he still had a fifteen hundred men at his command, they were badly outnumbered and hampered with the protection of the survivors of Cannae, and now those Romans they had saved hours ago. They had to set off quickly before their battle was discovered by Hannibal’s scouts. Rome, the city was still in danger. With that fact still lingering in his mind, Gaius had no time to order a proper burial for the Romans killed here this day, not even his own men who died during the raid. So, he ordered, without Valerius’ consent that the bodies of the dead Romans be piled and burned. What rights they could afford he had given. As for the slaves, they would remain where they fell; food for the circling birds that waited eagerly for this army to move on.

Gaius caught sight of Brutus, one of the few senior officers he had seen since last night. He was running up towards him as he walked among the dead, still glancing from right to left, looking for the old gladiator leader of this defeated band.

“Gaius!” Brutus called as he neared, carefully working his way between the bodies. Gaius could hear the urgency in his voice as his name was called out again.

“I know. You can tell Valerius that I will have the men marching within the hour. We are only cleaning up and still gathering survivors,” Gaius called out even before Brutus, nearly out of breath had reached him.

“No. It is not that. I’m here about Valerius. I’ve been trying to find you.”

“What of him?” Gaius asked eagerly.

“He was wounded during the raid. Badly, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“Yes. He took an arrow under the arm. We managed to save him before anymore damage could be done, and evacuated him from the battle. But I’m afraid,” Brutus was nervous about his sentence. “He is hurt badly. I do not know if he will survive.”

Gaius instantly forgot about his search for Calfax’s body as he walked past Brutus, demanding, “Take me to him.”

A temporary camp had been established to gather the wounded, prisoners and the survivors before they were to march and link up with the main body of the legion. Gaius worked his way through the collection of bodies that stood, most cheerful and bolstering about the victory. His men stood shoulder to shoulder with the survivors, sharing stories, offering water, wine, food and clothing, while doctors and orderlies took care of those who had been wounded during their imprisonment, torture and then battle. Those that could not walk were loaded onto wagons, while the prisoners were chained together, and waited for the long march back to Rome. A number of men, his fellow Wolves and the survivors cheered and patted him on his back as he walked threw them. He had freed them, and all were eternally grateful for his efforts. His thoughts were, however, only on where he needed to go.

Every possible horrific image filled his mind as he walked towards the small tent that had been erected to keep Valerius safe and away from prying eyes. When he finally neared, two men stood guard. They quickly stepped aside and opened a path for Gaius to enter. He was hesitant. However, as he stood before the tent flap, glancing over at one of the two men with a worried look. The man lowered his eyes, which too were filled with dread. Gaius then stepped forward.

Inside, Valerius was thankfully awake and alert. He was laid down on a cot. His armor stripped from his body, his chest and arms covered with dried blood and sweat as a doctor was knelt next to the general, examining the wound.

Valerius cursed the doctor as the man dug into the wound, which had to be cut wider so that the arrow head and splinters of wood could be extracted. The whole process was worse than the arrow tearing through his flesh in the first place.

“Dammit man! Is it too much to ask that you hurry up?!" Valerius bellowed as the doctor, knife in one hand, tweezers in another dug through the open wound. Now and again, the old Greek would drop a bloody piece of wood into a cooper bowl that lay near him.

“If you held still, general, I could finish faster,” the doctor grumbled as he grabbed another piece and dropped it into a bowl. “It serves you right for falling off of the horse and shattering the arrow like you did. Next time, you need to be more careful.”