The Journal of Hannibal #2

dies Veneris pridie Nonas Maj. DXXXVI

                My fingers are numb and the wind howls through my tent, flickering my candle.  My army sits at the foot of the Alps whose clutches we have just escaped from.  The ascend was easy enough but the descend was harrowing.  All we had to march on was a mule path not wide enough for 2 men to walk abreast.  The snow there would thaw during the day but freeze back more so during the night.  Every day I could hear the death throes of yet another elephant of mine.  I only have but one now and he may not last the night.  My human casualties are even worse.  Of all the Gaulish tribesmen that joined, only a handful remain.  We took nearly a hundred thousand men from Hispania and now have a mere thirty thousand left. 

                As I write I cannot help but feeling frustrated.  The promise I made in blood ten years ago still remains unfulfilled.  And how can I now succeed with a third of my army left?  When I attacked Saguntum, newly made protectorate of Rome, I had been eager for war with a fresh army.  The Romans were weary of our rapid conquest of Hispania and wanted to cut our glory short.  Finally, the losses we had suffered in their arms were the kindling, this provocation was the spark.  My men would now follow me and bring Rome to its knees.  As we marched barbaric tribes would join us in our struggle.  Our army grew rapidly and hope rose in my chest.  We can win this, I thought.  But now the army has dwindled again.  And I feel defeated without ever taking the field but I must continue on.  My oath, sworn in blood, must be satisfied before my father’s soul can rest with his ancestors. 

                My candle flickers again and I see it’s nearly finished.  The bath of oil is cooking, so close is it to the flame.  The young boy who attends to me has run to fetch another but he won’t return in time.  I will walk around the encampment one last time before slumber.  My men must see me be hopeful and not afraid of what is to come.