Above the voices of the captains, the ringing of clarions and the
grating of tyres, bullets of lead and almonds of clay whistled through
the air, dashing the sword from the hand or the brain out of the skull.
The wounded, sheltering themselves with one arm beneath their shields,
pointed their swords by resting the pommels on the ground, while others,
lying in pools of blood, would turn and bite the heels of those above
them. The multitude was so compact, the dust so thick, and the tumult
so great that it was impossible to distinguish anything; the cowards who
offered to surrender were not even heard. Those whose hands were empty
clasped one another close; breasts cracked against cuirasses, and
corpses hung with head thrown back between a pair of contracted arms.
There was a company of sixty Umbrians who, firm on their hams, their
pikes before their eyes, immovable and grinding their teeth, forced two
syntagmata to recoil simultaneously. Some Epirote shepherds ran upon the
left squadron of the Clinabarians, and whirling their staves, seized the
horses by the man; the animals threw their riders and fled across the
plain. The Punic slingers scattered here and there stood gaping. The
phalanx began to waver, the captains ran to and fro in distraction,
the rearmost in the files were pressing upon the soldiers, and the
Barbarians had re-formed; they were recovering; the victory was theirs.
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