Ride Into the Sun Read online

  Ride Into the Sun

  A Novel Based on the Life of Scipio Africanus

  Patric Verrone

  Contents

  Foreword

  Map

  1. A Rome of War—218 B.C.

  2. Home—217 B.C.

  3. Swear the Same Oath—216 B.C.

  4. The Age of Scipio—213 B.C.

  5. The Young Commander—210 B.C.

  6. Crossing the Ebro—210 B.C.

  7. Neptune’s Blessing—209 B.C.

  8. Battle at Baecula—208 B.C.

  9. The Rain in Spain—207 B.C.

  10. Dinner in Sigo—206 B.C.

  11. Scipio the Soldier—206 B.C.

  12. Fire and Sword—205 B.C.

  13. Veterans and Volunteers—205 B.C.

  14. Trouble in Locri—204 B.C.

  15. A Change of Direction—204 B.C.

  16. Attack on the Tower City—204 B.C.

  17. Burning the Camps—204 B.C.

  18. A Lucky Arrow—203 B.C.

  19. Peace Broken—203 B.C.

  20. Zama—202 B.C.

  Epilogue

  About The Mentoris Project

  About the Author

  Also from The Mentoris Project

  Foreword

  First and foremost, Mentor was a person. We tend to think of the word mentor as a noun (a mentor) or a verb (to mentor), but there is a very human dimension embedded in the term. Mentor appears in Homer’s Odyssey as the old friend entrusted to care for Odysseus’s household and his son Telemachus during the Trojan War. When years pass and Telemachus sets out to search for his missing father, the goddess Athena assumes the form of Mentor to accompany him. The human being welcomes a human form for counsel. From its very origins, becoming a mentor is a transcendent act; it carries with it something of the holy.

  The Barbera Foundation’s Mentoris Project sets out on an Athena-like mission: We hope the books that form this series will be an inspiration to all those who are seekers, to those of the twenty-first century who are on their own odysseys, trying to find enduring principles that will guide them to a spiritual home. The stories that comprise the series are all deeply human. These books dramatize the lives of great Italians and Italian-Americans whose stories bridge the ancient and the modern, taking many forms, just as Athena did, but always holding up a light for those living today.

  Whether in novel form or traditional biography, these books plumb the individual characters of our heroes’ journeys. The power of storytelling has always been to envelop the reader in a vivid and continuous dream, and to forge a link with the subject. Our goal is for that link to guide the reader home with a new inspiration.

  What is a mentor? A guide, a moral compass, an inspiration. A friend who points you toward true north. We hope that the Mentoris Project will become that friend, and it will help us all transcend our daily lives with something that can only be called holy.

  —Robert J. Barbera, President, Barbera Foundation

  —Ken LaZebnik, Editor, The Mentoris Project

  Roman and Carthaginian Dominions and Allies

  1

  A Rome of War—218 B.C.

  Laelius remembered standing valiantly at the bow of an immense ship at the head of the Roman fleet in the center of the marketplace. He recalled holding his sword outstretched before him as he faced down Hamilcar Barca, commander of the Carthaginian forces.

  “Your fleet is no match against the power of the Roman Republic,” Laelius said.

  “Rome is a state of cowards. Do your worst!” Hamilcar Barca said just before Laelius gave the command to pursue the Carthaginian fleet around the island of Sicily.

  The turbulent Mediterranean frothed beneath their ships. The wind whipped through Laelius’s hair. Soon, Laelius heroically leapt from his ship onto Hamilcar Barca’s, and steel met steel. The two great men battled until their swords were thrown aside and they wrestled on the deck of the ship. Then, Laelius remembered knocking into the olive oil seller’s booth and nearly toppling a row of carafes. Their imaginary battle was shattered by the merchant, who chased them out of the marketplace.

  Laelius thought back on his childhood fondly, when he and the other boys would reenact battles from the First War against Carthage. They would terrorize the merchants and patrons of the Roman market with their overactive imaginations. Laelius’s favorite was the Battle of the Aegates Islands, the battle that concluded the war and ousted the Carthaginians from Sicily. Everyone always fought over who would play the Romans and who would have to play Hamilcar Barca. Sometimes if the boy playing Hamilcar was particularly strong, he would knock the Romans over and rewrite history by claiming victory for the Carthaginians. If this happened, the other boys would pile onto him and reassert Rome’s superiority.

  As Laelius grew older, he realized that the reality was much grimmer than his play. The Rome into which Laelius had been born was a Rome of war. Rome had established itself as a superpower in Europe, rising above the smaller Italian kingdoms that populated the north, south, and Sardinian islands off the coast. No other power in Italy would dare challenge the massive Republic’s control over the region. However, Carthage was no longer just a struggling African principality across the sea. Every day, news came of Carthage’s allies landing in Iberia or their occupation of the Italian islands in the south. What history might consider peacetime after the end of the First Punic War was filled with paranoia, fear-mongering, and confusion. Not long after peace was negotiated, rumors arose of Hamilcar Barca’s son, the great and enterprising Hannibal, building another army to avenge his family’s name. The First War had drained Rome of its resources and its people’s pride, and yet somehow it seemed to have made Rome’s enemies across the Mediterranean only stronger. As Laelius and his friends transformed Rome’s battles into games, the rest of the city held its breath, fearing that Carthage would take its revenge.

  Then, that fateful summer came. Word began to trickle in of Hannibal crossing the Alps into Italy. What was first dismissed as disparate drops of rumor and conjecture had, by the end of that summer, risen into a tumultuous ocean of truth. Laelius could remember the days when people began to truly understand what Hannibal had done. They were angry and scared. They wanted to fight or flee into the sea or plead the gods for mercy. But even in all that desperation, that summer was quiet. The birds didn’t sing, the bees didn’t hum, and the grass was always still. Yet, the fragile peace had finally broken and, as Rome scrambled to gather the pieces, Hannibal crossed onto Italian soil.

  The Roman Senate was in utter disarray. They were a long way from recovering after the First War, and Hannibal’s sudden descent into Italy had left them scrambling to sort out who would lead the charge and who would lead the Republic. Many of Rome’s most prominent families had lost men in the First War, so the senate was put in the position of redeploying the statesmen who had survived. A large portion of these men were injured or exhausted and in no hurry to return to the battlefield. The senate erupted in bickering with consuls accusing one another of nepotism, cowardice, and traitorous activity during the First War. It was in this maelstrom that Publius the Elder and his brother Gnaeus decided that action had to be taken. Both well-respected men from the prominent Scipio family and both heroes of the First War, they took it upon themselves to form legions in northern Italy as the first line of defense against Hannibal should he march on Rome.

  Many of the other boys whom Laelius had played with in the marketplace were excited to join the Scipio brothers’ army when they turned eighteen, sometimes younger. They all warmly remembered the war games they’d played and jumped at the chance to become real heroes themselves. Laelius, who’d left his childhood days of play to help his father tend to the horses on their farm, began to
dream more and more of the valiant deeds, heroic victories, energetic sparring, and spectacular deaths he and his comrades had performed. Just a few weeks after the news of Hannibal’s crossing into Italy had been solidified into Roman minds as fact, Laelius was on his way to join Publius the Elder’s legion at Pisa.

  The journey felt strange to Laelius. He had never ventured more than a few miles beyond the city, and everything was new to his senses. Even the words sounded different in the mouths of the locals. Laelius had grown up as an only child with his mother and father. He kept to himself during most of his journey. He could not understand why the other boys became so delighted in being worked up by rumors about Hannibal’s army: tales of great Numidian cavalrymen who were such brilliant horsemen it was as if they became centaurs in the frenzy of the battlefield; savage warriors from Gaul with skin like marble stone; and great beasts the size of buildings, called elephants, that Hannibal had brought with him over the mountains.

  Laelius’s father was a horseman and Laelius had grown up caring for and riding horses all his life. Because of this, he was accepted into the legion’s modest cavalry. The other cavalrymen were the sons of noblemen or statesmen who had learned horse riding as a part of their illustrious educations. Most of them were uninterested in interacting with Laelius, who was decidedly of a lower class. There was, however, one fellow horseman who took an interest in the quiet horse breeder’s son.

  The wind had picked up toward the end of summer and the breeze was pleasantly cooling. Laelius was attending to a stallion he had taken a liking to, nicknamed Narcissus for the long drinks that he took, making it seem as if he were engrossed in his reflection.

  Another cavalryman rode up beside him. Laelius recognized him as the commander’s son Scipio. Though not terribly handsome, he had a strong soldier’s build and the high forehead attributed to wise men, as well as a clever twinkle in his eye. Aside from these, his features were distinctly Roman.

  “Ride with me?” he asked.

  “Where to?” Laelius replied.

  “Into the sun. If we catch it, Apollo will have to give us two of the stallions from his chariot.”

  Laelius mounted his horse, and the two of them took off westward. They rode as far as they could, but as the sun began to set, the chances of catching up to Apollo’s chariot fell with it. They slowed to catch their breath.

  “I see you alone most of the time,” said the commander’s son. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t think I have much in common with anybody else in the legion.”

  “We’re all Roman.” He turned and started back toward the camp.

  Laelius urged Narcissus forward and rode beside Scipio. From that point on, the two men became inseparable.

  Life in the camp was a mixture of gradual preparation for an attack and cautious relaxation. Word of the army’s movements reached the camp through multiple Roman allies and spies throughout northern Italy, but no one could quite make sense of what Hannibal’s plan was. The senate feared he would eventually take his army down to Rome and it was the job of Scipio’s legion to make sure he didn’t get that far. When they weren’t preparing for an altercation with Hannibal, the soldiers played games. Those in the cavalry raced or dared one another to jump and dodge obstacles on their horses. It soon became clear to everyone in the legion that Scipio and Laelius were the most accomplished riders at the Pisa camp.

  On a day when the lingering summer heat numbed the limbs into extreme lethargy, Scipio, Laelius, and a few other soldiers gathered by the bank of the Rhône. The trees had just begun turning from green into brown and red. Some of the leaves had fallen in swirling circles in the river, green beside red, two seasons rushing southward. Laelius was basking on a rock perched above a deep, lazy pool in which the stones had caught the river. Scipio was speaking to a few of the other soldiers behind him. As Laelius watched the leaves dancing in the water, he was surprised to find them speedily racing toward him. He broke through the water headfirst and quickly resurfaced to see who had pushed him.

  Scipio looked down at him, a satisfied smirk splashing across his face. Laelius tried climbing the rock to pull his friend down with him. The other men laughed and some even tried pushing Laelius back into the water. Laelius finally gave up on climbing back up the rock and instead swam to the shore. He quietly crouched in the grass, listening to the muffled, anticipatory chuckles from the other men. Laelius leapt from the grass and began to wrestle Scipio along the bank. He was older than Scipio and physically stronger and, after a brief tussle, he was able to lurch both of them into the river. The sound of Scipio and Laelius splashing and the other men cheering and booing covered the slow approach of horse hooves.

  One of the men gave out a cry. Scipio and Laelius resurfaced just as a small band of Numidian horseman burst into the clearing. They wore golden lioness hides across their shoulders and poised slings and javelins above their heads. After a chilling heartbeat of recognition, the leader of the group charged right at Scipio and Laelius. The two Roman boys rolled out of the way and into the tall grass. Their comrades quickly gathered their shields and spears. The band of Numidians was small, but still outnumbered the soldiers slightly—and besides, they had horses and the element of surprise on their side. Scipio leapt out of the grass and grabbed his shield, turning just in time for the large iron circle to catch a flying javelin that would have gouged his thigh. Scipio tossed a spear to Laelius, who, with a burst of adrenaline even he did not know he was capable of, launched the spear further than he ever had and hit one of the Numidian’s horses in its back leg. The rider dropped his sling and toppled into the river.

  Laelius dove into the water to grab the weapon. He heard Scipio shout behind him. He was wielding a large rock and gesturing to the sling. Laelius grabbed it before it floated downstream and tossed it to him. Scipio placed the rock in the sling, swung it above his head, and lobbed it at the rider who had charged at Laelius and Scipio, hitting him between the eyes with a gut-wrenching crack! The man rolled off his horse and into another rider. Their leader unconscious, the Numidian band quickly retreated. All the Roman men were accounted for, and helped a comrade who had been struck in the shoulder by a javelin to walk back to camp.

  Back at the military base in Pisa, Scipio headed straight to his father’s tent. He insisted that Laelius accompany him to vouch for the events at the Rhône. When the two boys entered Publius the Elder’s tent, they found him speaking with two of his head generals, Caius and Sempronius. Scipio described the Numidian attack at the river, and Publius the Elder immediately went to a large map of the region laid out on a wooden table. Scipio’s father flanked the sides of the map with the palms of his hands, giving him leverage to lean against the table and look directly down onto the inked depictions of the Rhône, the Ticinus, and Pisa.

  “What did the riders look like?” Publius the Elder inquired once his son finished his account.

  “They wore lioness skins instead of shields,” Laelius piped up.

  Publius the Elder gravely studied his map. “They are Hannibal’s men, then. We’ve received reports from northern allies of a similar group of Numidian cavalrymen marching with Hannibal’s main force. They were likely sent before the army to scout the area and they’ll have told Hannibal where he found you. His camp must be close.” He turned to one of his generals. “Caius, ready a group of our best cavalrymen and velites to form a reconnaissance mission. We will march northward and westward in a wide sweep toward the mountains and gather whatever intel on Hannibal’s movements and whereabouts we can. It will be impossible for him to evade us or travel any further south, and once we return, we will assess our viability of attack.”

  “Laelius and I will go,” Scipio volunteered.

  “You have helped us enough already,” his father assured him.

  “You said that you wanted the best cavalrymen on this mission. Laelius and I are the most experienced riders in this entire legion.”

  “He is right, sir,” Caius conceded. “T
hese young men have bested their peers and soldiers much older in most of the riding games.”

  “He is too young. Son, you are only just eighteen and will be of much more help here at the camp—”

  “Doing what? Playing more games?” Scipio interrupted.

  The tent was saturated with tension that ran deeper than military insubordination: father versus son. Scipio’s defiant, youthful expression was mirrored in his father’s older but equally challenging face.

  After a few heartbeats, Scipio softened and spoke. “I came here with you to fight on behalf of Rome. I would be more helpful with you on this mission.”

  Though Publius the Elder’s expression did not shift, something in the hazel eyes he had passed down to his firstborn softened along with Scipio. “You will be included on the mission, but you will also be accompanied by a protectorate of cavalrymen to assure your safety.”

  “As long as Laelius can be included in my protectorate,” Scipio immediately countered.

  It shocked Laelius how readily Scipio demanded concessions from his father and commanding officer.

  Publius the Elder nodded. “Ready your things, then. You two are dismissed.” He gestured for Sempronius to join him at the table and the two immediately began poring over the map.

  Laelius turned to leave the tent, but Scipio did not move. He hesitated, as if waiting for something.