Hannibal's children

Chapter 9

“But those walls!” Norbanus said. “They are not like the work of Gods!” He spoke to a group of his fellow Romans on the broad terrace of their house in Megara. They lounged at their ease while servants brought them cool drinks. Marcus Scipio was closeted with Metrobius and Ahenobarbus, going over the wording of the treaties they had been hammering out, laboriously, for days.

"Nonsense," said Flaccus, who was more at ease in these luxurious surroundings than the others. "They are just stone, and not all that well cut, if you ask me. What do you need to construct such walls?" He held up three fingers and folded them as he enumerated. "Just three things: stone, slaves and time. It's said that the Egyptians piled up stone even higher, just to bury their kings. We could have built walls like that, but Rome has never depended on walls." Most nodded and said that this was true.

"But what does this say about the people who built those walls?" Norbanus pressed on. "Their power, their wealth, are all on a scale we have never seen before. We saw a part of the city garrison. Carthage has a whole empire to defend. Her armies must be vast."

"Hirelings," snorted a hard-faced senator named Flavius Ahala. "When have legionaries ever feared hired troops, no matter how numerous? Steel in the hands of enemies never conquered us. It's the steel in the spines of citizen soldiers that won our conquests." This was richly applauded.

"Hannibal beat us with such soldiers," Norbanus pointed out.

"But he was Hannibal," Flavius protested. In the Roman mind, the great Carthaginian general had become something more than human. He was not to be compared with ordinary mortals.

"Has anyone seen these Carthaginian soldiers?" Flaccus asked. "They are supposed to be the elite of the army, the strategic reserve. I have my doubts that they even exist."

"I agree," said Flavius. "From what I've been able to learn, no war has approached the walls of Carthage for a hundred years. If the citizen troops are not sent out to fight on the frontiers, what experience can they have? It takes more than plumes and gilded armor and maneuvers on the drill field to make soldiers."

"You are saying that to reassure yourselves," Norbanus said. "We have no navy and don't even know how to sail a ship. How are we going to challenge such an empire?"

"Let's concentrate on taking back the Seven Hills and securing Italy," Flavius said. "Time enough later to think about challenging Carthage for the rest of the world."

Norbanus nodded, satisfied. Scipio was moving far too fast for his taste. It was typically arrogant, old-family pride. As if having the name of an ancient hero was enough to make a man a natural leader in a world far different than that of the old Republic. The old families took the highest offices, commands and priesthoods as if they were their natural right.

It was as if, he thought, men whose great-grandfathers were Germanic and Gallic chieftains were somehow inferior. Yet, who were the ancestors of those patricians? By their own account, Rome was founded by a band of homeless bandits who found a few squalid villages on some hills near the Tiber, took them, stole women from a neighboring town and set themselves up as kings. What were they compared with a German lord over thousands of tribesmen who could trace his lineage back to Woden himself?

The blood in my veins is as good as any of theirs, he thought, even if his name is Scipio. We accepted their language, we took their excellent law code and military organization, we even wear their toga. But we are still free warriors and better than any pack of jumped-up Italian farmers.

"This man Hamilcar," Flavius said. "He looks like no sort of king or general. And his sister looks more like a whore than a priestess."

"I was rather taken with her, myself," Flaccus said.

Norbanus laughed. "Flavius, your idea of a priestess is a vestal virgin. The gods of Carthage are different."

"They are obscenities!" said Brutus the augur. "These barbarians practice human sacrifice! They are no better than a pack of druids."

"How shocking," Norbanus drawled. For reasons that escaped him, old-fashioned Romans were horrified by the idea of human sacrifice, although their munera were nothing but sacrifices in which one man had a chance of living by fighting well. And he did not share their disdain for Princess Zarabel.

The woman intrigued him in a way that no other had. Roman women of his class were raised to be virtuous wives and one of them who so much as spoke her mind in public created a scandal. They took no part in political life. They were always, needless to say, decently clad.

Zarabel was a creature alien to the Romans. She spoke and acted as if on equal terms with men. She gave her brother only the most formal deference. She flaunted her body without shame. She presided over a cult that was incomprehensible to the Romans. They understood the concepts of sacrifice and cosmic power, but the Punic gods competed with one another in a way that the Roman gods did not. There was some sort of power struggle between Tanit and Baal-Hammon, and this was reflected in the rivalry of the brother and sister who were scions of the Barca family.

As near as Norbanus could understand it, Hamilcar strove to make Baal-Hammon paramount god of Carthage, as Zeus was king among the Olympians. To this end he tried to identify his god with Zeus, going so far as to portray him in new statues in the traditional poses and garb of Zeus.

Zarabel, in contrast, fought the tendency to identify Tanit with Aphrodite. She played upon the innate conservatism of the people, telling them that alien gods were undermining their ancient traditions, their unique relationship with the gods. The Carthaginians were happy to use foreign soldiers, to adopt the architecture and arts of other nations, but their gods were unique and their worship was not to be adulterated with the practices and forms of other religions.

It was a clever ploy, and Norbanus was not certain how much was her own piety, how much cold and cynical calculation. Certainly, it made sense to resist the Hellenism that had swept the whole world. After all, Carthage had struggled against Greek influence in the West for centuries. It would be senseless if, after all that, the Greeks were to conquer by peaceful means. Besides, everyone knew that Greek influence sapped the strength of a nation, made it softer and less warlike. These were things to be resisted.

But more than all that was the woman herself. She was beautiful; there could be no denying that. She was wealthy and powerful in a fashion that no Roman consul could boast. She was alluring and clearly, he thought, in need of a strong man. Just as clearly, she had bestowed more of her attention on him than on the other Romans. She was, he reflected, a woman with an unerring eye for a superior man.

Zarabel sat enthroned in the great temple of Tanit. Like her brother's throne room, hers was spacious and lavish. Unlike his, it held no courtiers, no soldiers or merchant chiefs. The men, women and eunuchs who sat before her in reverent silence were the sacerdotes of the Punic gods. In the fore were the priests and priestesses of the greatest gods: Tanit, Melkarth, and Eshmun. Behind them sat the devotees of the many lesser gods. Only one deity was unrepresented: Baal-Hammon, commonly called Moloch.

There were great matters to discuss, but these procedures had to follow ancient forms. The sacerdotes of each of the gods must first report the signs and omens seen since the last gathering. No decisions could be taken until the attitude of the gods was assessed. First to speak was the high eunuch-priest of Tanit.

"Holiness," he began, "we are most distressed by the signs. For the last month the Moon, sacred heavenly emblem of Tanit, has displayed a reddish color most uncommon for this time of year. Her sacred geese have been restless and have often refused to eat. Clearly, the goddess is displeased. We have offended her in some fashion."

Next the high priest of Eshmun stood. He was a tall, heavy man with uncut hair, his eyebrows emphasized with kohl to form a pair of swooping wings that met in an inverted point between his eyes. "My princess, the earth is in turmoil. The ground shook at Siccas, many buildings fell, many were killed. We anticipate a scanty harvest and wild beasts encroach on the outlying villages. Lions have never been so numerous." These were not seen as natural occurrences. There were no natural occurrences. There was only the will and whim of the gods.

A priestess rose. She wore a green gown in the form of fish scales and on her head was a fish headdress. She represented Dagon, once a minor Canaanite sea god, now exalted in Carthage. "My goddess-on-Earth, great monsters have been sighted at sea, dragons of the deep never seen in the Middle Sea before. Something has caused them to enter the Pillars of Melkarth-"

And so it went, one consecrated personage after another reporting ominous signs: fiery dragons seen hurtling through the night skies, birds, fish, beasts behaving unnaturally, monstrous births among humans and animals, floods and droughts and earthquakes, terrible storms and disappearances of ships in fine weather. Soldiers manning a border fort saw ghostly armies parading by in bright sunlight. A pure white elephant was born in the stables at New Carthage in Spain, and white was the color of death.

"Enough," Zarabel said. "It is plain that the gods are angry. But at whom?"

"Majesty," said the high priest of Eshmun, this time employing her title as princess, "Carthage lies now at the height of her power, as established by your ancestor Hannibal the Great. We are unchallenged save by Egypt, our prosperity is great." He paused, gazed around at the many sacerdotes in their holy regalia. "But this is a passing trifle, a matter of glitter and vanity. What are these things to the immortal gods? They have raised us high, and they can plunge us downward even more swiftly. We are powerless before them, and we can purchase their favor only with loyalty, devotion and sacrifice.

"In recent years," he went on in a more forceful voice, "we have fallen from the true religion. We have given our ancient gods the futile trappings of the Greek gods, who are nothing more than outsized humans!" There were cries of agreement and curses of execration against the alien gods. "My princess, you have resisted this valiantly and have kept the worship of Tanit pure, may she bless you forever. But I fear that your efforts have not been enough. The gods of Carthage are jealous. They will not share their glory with contemptible Greek half-gods. They require proof of our unswerving devotion, or I fear that they will destroy Carthage in their wrath."

"What proof of devotion must they have?" she demanded, knowing perfectly well. Her face was painted to resemble a mask and her silver crown bore a great crescent moon above her brow, its horns pointing upward. From throat to ankle she was draped in a black robe spangled with silver stars and moons.

"Majesty," said the high eunuch of Tanit, "the gods must have a tophet."

It was what she had expected. The tophet was the most solemn of Carthaginian rites. It was the ultimate affirmation of their devotion to the gods. When the gods had shown their disfavor through famine or plague or military catastrophe, the greatest people of Carthage, the wealthy, the noble, even the royal family, brought their children to the great square where the gigantic images of the gods were assembled. The huge bronze image of Baal-Hammon, now in his aspect as Moloch, glowed from the great fire kindled in his belly. There, amid prayer and wailing and the billowing smoke of tons of frankincense, the noble children of Carthage were cast into the naming maw of Moloch and were consumed utterly. The sacrifice was followed by a great celebration, for thus was the favor of the gods purchased. No other people were so devoted. No others were willing to make such a sacrifice. Therefore, no others were as powerful, as favored by the gods, as were the Carthaginians.

"I agree," Zarabel said, "but we will need preparation. The people are not ready."

"The people?" cried the priest of Eshmun. "What have they to do with anything? The gods do not ask for a consensus. It is because of such foreign practices that the gods became angry in the first place."

"Nonetheless," she said firmly, "as you have pointed out, the people see their nation and race at the very pinnacle of worldly power and glory. They are not skilled in interpreting the signs, as are we, the servants of the gods. To decree a tophet now would seem to them ingratitude."

"Majesty," said the priestess of Dagon, "we must not allow this state of affairs to continue too long. We could lose the favor of the gods irrevocably."

"I think we need not fear that," Zarabel said. "The people are accustomed to the tophet in times of national disaster. One such looms near even now."

"Your brother's war with Egypt?" said the chief eunuch.

"Precisely. His victory will strengthen the Hellenizing party in Carthage. His defeat will cast them into disgrace. The people will know that he has been defeated because he has displeased the gods."

No one mentioned what was on everyone's minds: that the princess had plans for bringing this defeat about. Even in such a gathering, there were some things best left unsaid.

The priestess of Bes rose. Bes was a minor Babylonian god who, like Dagon, had found a home in Carthage. He had the form of a fat, lion-headed dwarf and was the god of jollity and good times, a protector of travelers and women in childbirth. He was not one of the great and terrible gods, but was much beloved by the populace. "Holy one," she said, "the city is abuzz with talk of the Romans. Are they just men from a remote colony, or are they, too, a sign to us from the gods?"

"They are both," Zarabel said. "Yes, they are men from the remote north, descendants of our ancient enemies. But their appearance at this time, after so many generations, cannot be happenstance. Their ancestors were banished by the greatest and most victorious general ever raised by Carthage. That they should come among us just as an unworthy descendant of that same godlike Shofet seeks to equal his ancestor's glory cannot fail to be significant. The gods have sent them here for a purpose."

She did not have to explain to them what that purpose was: It was to bring low the Shofet and his bastardized, diluted cult, and raise high the cult of Tanit and its priestess. She had her plans already made.

"Ambassador Scipio?

Marcus looked up from his papers to see Zarabel standing in the doorway. He stood and inclined his head respectfully. "Princess. You honor me and Rome." He noted that she had employed a form of address to which he was not fully entitled. He was empowered by the Senate to open diplomatic negotiations, but he had not been given diplomatic rank. "You honor me personally far too much, in fact."

"Oh, I think not. Whatever your Senate thinks, you are a man who seizes the moment. If you are not officially an ambassador, you are one in fact through your own deeds. Any sovereign would rather deal with such a man than with some fat time-server sent out to get him away from court."

Instantly he was on his guard. Why such flattery? Today the princess was wearing one of her less distracting outfits; a neck-to-feet gown of fabulous blue silk. It left her arms bare but they were so plated with gold that the flesh was barely visible. He was sure that the relative modesty of her attire was intended to set him at his ease, just as the outrageously immodest garb she had worn on the first day had been chosen to unsettle the Romans and put them in their place as beings of a lesser order.

"I am about to become a fat time-server myself," he told her. "If I keep attending the banquets you and your brother and the trade associations keep giving in our honor, I'll look like the master of the pearl merchants' guild."

At this she laughed. The merchant chief he had mentioned was among the fattest men in Carthage, the furthest image in the world from the hard, lean Roman. "It would take years of banqueting to do that. I've seen you and your friends exercising every morning on the public drill field. I don't think professional athletes work as hard."

She had been much impressed with the disciplined way the Romans began running on the field before first light, progressing to wrestling and then to weapons practice. From an armorer's shop in the city they had ordered practice shields and weapons and she had learned that these were of double or even triple the weight of real field equipment.

She had been astounded at the ferocity the Romans displayed even in these practice bouts, knocking the wind from one another with the lead-weighted, wooden swords, smashing shield against shield with such violence that men were sometimes thrown backward a dozen paces to land on their backs half-unconscious. They hurled heavy javelins with such force that they often split the four-inch hardwood posts that were used as targets and their aim was unerring. If these were men of the highborn officer class, she thought, what must their legionaries be like?

"I thought you might be interested in a new sort of spectacle this afternoon," she said to him.

"In this city," he said, "my poor head wearies of unending spectacle, but I am game for anything new. What is it?"

"Not something Carthaginian this time. The Egyptian fleet is coming into the harbor. Would you care to come down and see?"

"Decidedly," he said, wondering what this might portend.

As usual, she had brought along one of her huge litters, but this one had room for only two riders. They were carried from the Megara down toward the vast commercial harbor, and as they went, Marcus marveled once again at the wonderful siting of this city. Nearby Utica, another Phoenician colony, was older than Carthage, and nearby Hippo-Zarytus was also a great Punic city, but none of them had the excellent, protected harbor that graced Carthage.

In characteristic fashion, the Carthaginians had improved the natural features of their site with a great seawall and mole, all of them tied into the titanic defenses of the city. Although not as impressive an engineering project as the naval harbor, it was many times larger. Marcus had visited it a number of times, but it always presented a new and lively aspect. Its great plaza was dominated by the outlandish image of Dagon. This deity was depicted with the bearded head and upper body of a man; his lower body that of a fish. He overlooked a scene of unceasing activity and color.

The wharfs were thronged with ships of every nation bringing the world's produce to the greatest city of the west. Everything from foodstuffs to dyes, from ingots of metal to living animals was unloaded in this place. Offshore, anchored vessels waited their turn to moor and unload. Among these smaller vessels were rowed or paddled; the craft of fishermen or the small merchants who sold their wares to the bored crews waiting aboard the anchored vessels.

There were even raft-like boats equipped with cranes. These were salvage vessels, for boats frequently sank in the harbor or its approaches, either from the ravages of their voyages or from a sudden storm in the harbor, for even the finest harbor could not provide complete protection from powerful winds and waves. For this task Carthage had a guild of salvage divers; men like seals who could hold their breaths for a prodigious time. They wore ingenious masks of oiled leather provided with fine lenses of flat-ground mica or crystal.

But on this day even the fascinating sight of the divers drew no one's attention. Coming in through the great harbor entrance, between the huge twin lighthouses that cast columns of smoke high into the heavens, was a line of vessels even more colorful than the ones that sailed from Carthage. They were high prowed and square-sailed, painted in colors of hallucinatory variety and brightness. In the lead was by far the largest vessel Marcus had ever beheld in his admittedly limited experience. He found it difficult to believe that anything so huge could even float, much less move under human guidance. He remarked on this to Zarabel.

"Oh, this is not a great ship," she assured him. "The pleasure-barges of the Ptolemies are the size of towns, with two hulls and decks many stories high. Of course, they are not seagoing vessels, but river craft." She sighed. "In this no one can hope to match them, for no other people have a river as great as the Nile."

"You mean there is something the Carthaginians don't do bigger than anyone else?" he said.

She smiled. "Just this one thing." Then she admitted: "Well, there are others. We don't have a statue as huge as the one at Rhodes, and the lighthouse at Alexandria is even higher than our twin ones. I am told that there are some temples larger than any of ours. You won't see so many marvels in one place, though."

"That I can believe," he said. The line of ships following the huge one seemed endless. "What does the Egyptian fleet bring you?"

"Some of them will carry the products of the interior: black slaves, ivory, feathers of ostrich and other birds, hides of many animals, the animals themselves."

"Have you no access to the interior?" he asked.

She shook her head, making the black hair move in lazy waves over her shoulders. "No. South of here lies a great desert that no one has ever crossed. It is vast. Only Egypt has access, down the river. We send fleets out through the Pillars of Melkarth and south along the coast, but the voyage is long and very hazardous. We lose many sailors to the weather and terrible diseases. It is easier and cheaper to trade with Egypt."

"And what do the other vessels carry?" he wanted to know.

"Most of them bear grain. It is Egypt's biggest export."

"Grain? But the land around you is so fertile. Why do you need to buy imported grain?"

"We sell it. This is as far west as Egyptian ships sail. From here we carry it wherever people need to buy grain. In every year, someone is having a bad harvest. It is not as glamorous as ivory and peacocks, but it is very profitable. Hungry people will trade anything for a handful of wheat."

They watched as the colorful ships dropped anchor in the harbor. A number of the long wharfs were hastily cleared so that at least a portion of the fleet could unload. Crowds thronged the harbor, for this was a considerable spectacle even in Carthage.

Marcus took it all in, but his thoughts were on what the princess had told him, especially the part about Egyptian grain. The glittering, exotic treasures of far lands had their charms, but Romans were at heart farmers. Farmers understood the importance of staple crops. For generations they had traded with Greece for wine and oil. This was something new. From Herodotus and others he had read about the astounding fertility of the Nile valley, but this was solid proof. The river-nation actually produced so great a surplus of grain that it could export vast amounts of it. Most lands were lucky to produce enough for domestic consumption.

This, he thought, could be the key to something great.

Zarabel had them carried to the quay where the flagship of the Egyptian fleet was moored. The slaves bore the litter right up the broad gangplank and set it down on the wooden deck. The ship's officers came running and prostrated themselves on the deck.

Marcus studied the sailors, who looked little different from Greeks, although some of them were darker-skinned than most. Of course, the ruling dynasty of Egypt were Macedonian-Greek, so it stood to reason that their fleet would be manned by men of that famously seafaring land.

"Welcome, Princess!" cried one of the officers, his voice somewhat muffled as his face was pressed to the deck.

"Rise, Admiral," Zarabel said. He and the other officers got to their feet. They wore a version of the traditional Egyptian dress: stiff linen kilts, striped head-cloths and broad pectorals of colorful beads. The admiral's clothing and jewelry were of finer quality than that of the others.

"You have had a successful voyage, I take it?" she said.

"A perfect voyage, Highness. Not a ship lost, no spoilage among the cargo, not even a serious leak in the whole fleet."

"Wonderful! The gods have favored you. We have come to inspect the ship and your cargo."

"It will be my privilege."

With proprietary pride, the admiral displayed his vessel's splendid appointments: luxurious cabins for the officers, a banqueting hall for visiting dignitaries, shrines to Greek and Egyptian gods, with an especially splendid one to Serapis, the Alexandrian god who was patron of the grain fleet. A catwalk down the centerline of the ship took them above the great hold. Marcus could see that this ship was one of the vessels for carrying luxury cargoes. Everywhere he saw marble, alabaster and gold. The air was redolent of perfume, incense and fragrant wood. Baled pelts of rare animals lay everywhere, and great jars of palm wine ballasted the ship.

Zarabel paused to point toward some large but nondescript bales wrapped in linen and bound with rope. "There is one of the greatest treasures of Egypt, Marcus. It isn't colorful, but we would be lost without it."

"What might it be?" he asked.

"Papyrus. It is the only decent writing material in the world, and it is made only in Egypt, from a reed that grows in the Delta and the Nile shallows."

"In Noricum we use parchment made from lamb skins. It lasts forever and can be washed and reused, but it is costly."

The admiral opened chests of books: scrolls in leather covers each labeled by author and work.

"This is another specialty of Egypt," Zarabel explained. "The great library of the museum has the largest collection of manuscripts in the world. It employs armies of copyists and sells the copies abroad."

"A nation that exports books," Marcus said wonderingly. Then he remembered something. "Did you not say that Archimedes fled to the Museum at Alexandria after the fall of Syracuse?"

"I did. Is this significant?"

"Nothing important. It just lodged in my mind." He picked up a scroll, slipped its cover off and unrolled it. It proved to be a copy of Prometheus the Firebringer by Aeschylus. The censors had repeatedly forbidden the performance of Greek plays in Noricum. They were felt to be weakening. He mentioned this to the princess and this set off a lively discussion about the emasculating properties of Greek culture. He did not want her thinking about Archimedes.

That evening the Roman party met and discussed their latest discoveries about Carthage, both the city and its empire. They were compiling an impressive study to deliver to the Senate, far more than they had thought they would ever have when they left Noricum.

"Carthage is not enough," Marcus asserted when he had taken all the other reports.

"That is uncommonly enigmatic for a Cornelius Scipio," Flaccus commented. "Ordinarily, you are such a plainspoken and forthright lot. Rather unimaginative, really. Whatever do you mean?"

"This"-he poked the growing stack of parchments with a finger-"is splendid and I am proud of all of you. But Carthage, imposing as it is, is just one power on the Middle Sea. There are others and we must know about them."

"But Carthage is our ancient enemy," said young Caesar.

"And Carthage shall be dealt with," Marcus said. "But we must not be so focused on revenge that we leave ourselves open to attack by the others."

"The Seleucids are crumbling, so I hear," Norbanus said. "The Parthians will probably crush them soon."

"And will the Parthians prove any less formidable?" Marcus said. "I am told that they are a virile, warlike people of the eastern plains. They are horse-archers of a sort we have never fought before. With the bulk of the old Persian Empire in their hands, might they not be far more formidable than the degenerate descendants of Seleucus?"

"In another generation or two, very probably," Norbanus answered in a reasonable tone. "I am sure they will provide our grandsons with some lively campaigning. But that is for the far future. Right now, Carthage is all we have to concern ourselves with."

"There is also Egypt," Marcus said.

The others laughed. "Egypt!" cried Lucius Ahenobarbus. "The Egyptians worship animals! They pickle their kings so they won't rot and then pile artificial mountains of stone over them to keep the jackals from munching on them!"

"When did the Egyptians last conquer a foreign enemy?" snorted Brutus the augur. "It was around the time that Troy fell, wasn't it?"

"A bit more recently than that, I think," said Flaccus. "But not by much. Marcus, what are you getting at?"

"Today I watched the Egyptian fleet unload in the harbor. This despite the fact that Egypt and Carthage are about to go to war, mind you. There were treasure ships, certainly, but I saw vessel after vessel unloading a single cargo. They are still unloading and will be doing so for several more days. Do you know what this cargo is?"

They looked at him as if he were demented. "Cargo?" said Norbanus. "What can the wares of a merchant fleet have to do with our work and plans?"

"Those ships were full of grain," Marcus told them. "Wheat and barley by the ton. I think it safe to assume that the Egyptians aren't starving. They ship this grain here every year. The Carthaginians middleman it to the west, all the way to Britannia. And Egypt exports it to the lands of the eastern Middle Sea and to Greece as well."

He paused while this intelligence sank in. He could see the thoughts working in their heads. "Egypt must be unbelievably rich," Flaccus said.

"It is the sort of wealth that really counts," Marcus said. "The land is incredibly fertile, the peasants are industrious and the river floods every year and leaves a fresh layer of silt on the fields. The growing season is far longer than we have in the north. In an ordinary year they get two crops. In a really good year they get three. Egypt raises so much grain that they can consume only a small part of it. Some they put up in granaries against a bad year. The rest they sell abroad. Many of the lands of the Middle Sea have come to depend on the Egyptian grain fleet."

"The nation that holds Egypt," Flaccus said, "will have a stranglehold on many other nations."

"Exactly," Marcus said.

"It is too much," Norbanus said. "We can't deal with Carthage and Egypt both. It has to be done one at a time, and Carthage must come first."

"I agree," said Marcus.

The others looked at him in amazement. "I didn't expect to hear that from you," Norbanus said. "So what is your meaning?"

"It may surprise you to learn that not everything is solved by conquest," Marcus said, grinning. "If we have Carthage, we may be able to dictate policy to Egypt without having to station a single legion on Egyptian soil. Egypt is governed from Alexandria, and Alexandria is a Greek city. The ruling dynasty, the Ptolemies, are another pack of degenerate Macedonians. The kings marry their sisters to keep the royal bloodline pure and I'm told that such breeding practices don't work as well with men as with horses and cattle."

"What is your proposal?" Ahenobarbus asked.

"I think we may be able to cement our control of Egypt with the conquest of Carthage, but to do so we must have good, up-to-date intelligence about Egypt. I propose an embassy to the court of Alexandria."

"Nonsense!" Norbanus said, jumping to his feet. "We have to return to Noricum soon, before the mountain passes fill with snow. An embassy to Egypt would entail months of delay."

"We don't all have to go back," Marcus said. "As soon as we compile our report, a party can return with it. Ten or fifteen men should be plenty. Italy is peaceful enough. The remainder can divide into two groups: one to stay here in Carthage, the other to go on to Egypt and open talks with the court. And to gather intelligence, of course."

"Why shouldn't we all go?" young Caesar asked.

"Hostages," Norbanus answered him, disgustedly. "Do you think Hamilcar will let us all go off to Egypt without leaving some of us behind for good behavior?"

"Who can blame him?" Flaccus chuckled. "If he trusts us not to double-deal with Egypt, he is a bigger fool than I take him for. It isn't as if we were old allies."

"So who goes?" Brutus said. "Assuming Hamilcar doesn't forbid the project entirely. He must be suspicious, considering he is planning a war with Egypt."

"I will lead the Egyptian expedition," Marcus said. "Norbanus will accompany me as second-"

"I will be more than happy to stay here as hostage," Norbanus said, grinning, "against your good behavior."

"I'm getting rather fond of Carthage myself," Flaccus said. "Why don't you just run off to Egypt and I'll stay-"

"Norbanus can stay here," Marcus said. "In fact, he will serve to reassure the Shofet that we're not plotting treachery. But you, Flaccus, are going to Egypt. I will need you."

"I don't suppose we might take a nice, leisurely land course along the coast? I hear the road is excellent."

"We go by sea," Marcus said. "It is faster. I'll see about getting us passage on one of the Egyptian ships when the fleet returns. You'll like them. They're much more luxurious than the Carthaginian warship that brought us here."

Norbanus clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Flaccus. This time you'll be puking into ivory buckets."

Then he told Zarabel of his plan, she seemed pleased. "You are nothing if not energetic. I think an embassy to Egypt is a splendid idea."

"Do you think your brother will see a conflict with his war plans?"

She laughed. "Didn't you notice that Egyptian fleet yesterday? Commerce and diplomacy go on despite war. He envisages a great war with him playing the role of Hannibal. But it will be fought by professionals and they will quit when they see that there is no advantage to going on. It will peter out and end up being settled at a conference table. "And frankly," she went on, "my brother doesn't see you Romans as much of a threat. He will send you on with his blessings. Of course, you will probably have to leave-"

"I've already made those arrangements," he told her. "Norbanus and some of the others will remain in Carthage."

She beamed. "Excellent."