Unaware of evil, they marched along the narrow road by the side of the lake, scarce able to see a step before them, so heavy hung the mist on the pathway and along the foot of the mountains.
But up on the heights, where Hannibal had posted his men, the sun was shining bright.
The Consul was glad of the mist. He would be able to approach the enemy unseen and attack it suddenly, while it was in marching order and unprepared for battle.
On and on tramped the Roman soldiers, and although they knew it not, they were tramping to destruction.
Hannibal waited until the rearguard had entered the defile, and then he gave his men the signal to attack.
Suddenly the Romans seemed to see the mist break and scatter before their eyes, pierced by the terrible battle-cry of the Gauls and by the quick tramp of Hannibal’s cavalry as it dashed out of the silence, upon the startled foe.
Javelins and arrows, hurled by unseen hands penetrated the mist as it again closed around them, while great stones came crashing down upon them, too huge to be withstood by shield or helmet.
In vain Flaminius strove to rally his panic-stricken troops. They but rushed the more wildly hither and thither, falling now upon the enemy, now upon each other, in their despair. The Consul himself fought bravely, but he soon fell wounded to death.
Thousands of his soldiers were slain. Some threw themselves into the lake, hoping to swim to safety, but their armour weighed them down and they were drowned. Others waded out as far as they dared into the water, only to be followed by the cavalry of the enemy and slaughtered without mercy.
It was useless to cry for quarter that day, for it was a day of vengeance and of sacrifice to the gods of Carthage. In three short hours, the Roman army was not only defeated; it no longer existed.