Scipio embraced each of his officers as friends and comrades alike, as if it were the last time he would see them again. He preferred speaking to them as equals, even if some in the room did not respect him for it.

Gaius was one of the last that Scipio approached, purposely so.

“You stood alone on the walls of Rome, my friend, when all others ran away. I know that above all other men in this room I can count on you and the Sixth the most. Help me win this war, Gaius, and we can all return home to those we love.”

“Victory or death,” Gaius replied.

“ Victory or death.”

More than, an hour later, Gaius stood alongside a number of officers, including Scipio astride his white horse, surveying the Carthaginian lines, which stretched for several miles. The strategies laid out during the meeting changed very little. For the most part, what he saw was what he had placed on the map. Gaius hoped the general’s foresight would prove just as fruitful when the fighting started.

“Well, I guess it was too much to ask for him not to show up, or just surrender,” Commodus, one of the generals besides Scipio commented with a smirk.

“By the gods’ man, do not say such things. Not when we’ve come all this way,” another officer spoke.

Each man chuckled lightly before Scipio put his heels to his horse’s side, urging the steed forward as he spoke.

“Come and let’s see what our esteemed colleges have come to say.”

He and his men rode the short distance across the field of battle to meet the Carthage contingent. The two armies were separated by five thousand paces; only the cracked and scorched earth separated them, which soon would run red with blood.

The two groups stood poised for a moment, staring at each other, sizing up the opposition before Scipio broke rank and trotted toward the enemy riders. One of the Carthaginian officers did so as well.

Gaius and the other Romans remained where they were, but they would still be near enough to hear the conversation between the respective generals.

Gaius had to narrow his eyes to get a better look at the Carthaginian commander across from Scipio, as the two men stopped their horses a few feet across from one another. And after a moment of close observation, it dawned on him that the officer could only be Hannibal Barca.

Hannibal became the most feared individual in Roman history — a man who single-handedly brought the Republic to its knees, killer of tens of thousands. Gaius had never seen him in person, until now, although he had faced the general’s army once before.

During the long cold nights in the Roman camp, soldiers around the fire wondered if Hannibal was a god, for all that he had accomplished in such a short time. He seemed to be conjured from every man’s worst nightmares: cold, calculating, deceptive and cunning to a fault. It was hard not to admire him. He may have given Alexander a challenge worthy of history.

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.”