Hannibal's children

Chapter 16

Governor Hanno had forgotten what ease and relaxation were. For years, he had enjoyed the slothful life of a Carthaginian territorial governor, carrying out his undemanding duties each morning after a substantial breakfast, then lazing his way through the fine afternoons of southern Italy. In the evenings he had dined alone or with friends in the city, or had attended or given splendid banquets and at night retired with one or more of his concubines, of which he had a fine selection in all three genders and an array of ages and colors.

All that was changed now. The mainland countryside was covered with military camps. The streets were filled with barbarian soldiers, the harbor was jammed with troop transports and horse transports and supply ships of every description. There were more sailors in town than the inns, taverns and brothels could readily accommodate. Tarentum was like a city under occupation by a foreign army.

The Romans behaved well enough, he supposed, but they had an arrogance that was disconcerting. Actually, as he thought of it, it was not so much arrogance. The soldiers acted like any other yokels seeing a great city for the first time. They gawked at the splendid temples and statuary, the luxurious appointments of one of the world's most civilized cities. They rarely brawled with the sailors, for their officers kept them under the sternest discipline. They never stole and the quaestors paid meticulously for everything required by the legions.

No, it was something else and he sought to put it into his latest letter to Princess Zarabel. Moon of Tank, he began, our allies from Noricum, or Romans, as they prefer to call themselves, do not comport themselves like our hirelings. Rather, they behave as if they were masters not only of Tarentum, but of all of Italy. I do not wish to imply that they behave insolently toward me. On the contrary, they are quite punctilious in observing the proprieties with regard to my prestige as governor. But one gets the impression that they do this because it is their custom always to accord persons of rank the proper respect due them.

He dipped his pen, considered his next words, and put them down. When they speak of Italy it is as if they referred to their own estates. When they speak of their sacred Seven Hills, which they do often, they seem not to be referring to the heap of ruins in central Italy once inhabited by their ancestors, but rather they speak as if it were the living capital of their nation. They have an easy assumption of lordship that is disconcerting to witness.

He paused and thought of how best to express his next thoughts. He wished to avoid all responsibility for any looming catastrophe, but he dared not understate the state of affairs. Sighing, he resumed: They reveal more than they know by their talk. I was given the impression that the four legions destined for Carthage constitute the bulk of Roman military power. Yet they refer to these formations as if they were only a fraction of a much larger force. And I know that they never speak lightly of military matters. I can scarcely convey to Your Majesty how serious these people are. Your Majesty has met some of them and doubtlessly has already formed this opinion. It is my fear that they act like the lords of Italy because they are that in sober fact.

He paused, wondering whether he might be stating his case too strongly. True, he had seen no more than the forces encamped without the walls and those already upon the water, bound for Carthage. Yet intuition told him that he was seeing a small part of the real Roman military power.

Majesty, he went on, in my unending zeal to present you with the most current and accurate information, I am sending spies northward, to inform me of all conditions pertaining to Italy north of here, most especially in the vicinity of Rome. If the would-be Romans truly intend to reoccupy the whole of Italy, and have the numbers to carry this out, I fear I do not see what may be done to thwart them anytime soon. Sicily and other Carthaginian territories near enough to be of aid have already been stripped of fighting men to carry out your brother's campaign against Egypt.

He added: Of course, we shall have four of their legions on our own territory, and the Noricans must be compelled to consider the future of these men in any contemplated treachery against Carthage. He thought a bit more. But there is always the possibility that they may consider the loss of these legions a sacrifice they are willing to make in order to win back their ancestral homeland.

With a few more thoughts and many more compliments, he concluded this latest report and sent it off to Zarabel. Over the next few days, when he could snatch time from his duties in facilitating the transportation of the Roman legions to Carthage, he summoned various of his spies, gave them their orders and sent them north to gather information. These were of various sorts, and none was acquainted with all of the others. Some were merchant captains whose vessels called at ports all along the Italian coast. Others were small merchants who traveled incessantly on behalf of the wool, wine and oil syndicates, a breed so numerous and ubiquitous as to be all but invisible. Yet others were livestock buyers and slavers, men whose activities naturally caused them to travel widely.

Even before these agents returned with their reports, he began to receive news that alarmed him: In central Italy and even points south of there, an unprecedented level of bandit activity had erupted. Villages were raided; even fair-sized towns held under siege and put to ransom. What could be behind this? An answer suggested itself immediately: Someone very formidable was taking control of northern Italy and the bandits were being driven south and were now desperate enough to take such bold action. He received indirect confirmation when he sought to dispatch a part of his small cavalry force north to deal with them.

"Oh, don't bother about this, sir," said the absurdly young man in charge of the cavalry auxilia that would be embarking after the infantry force. "We'll just take care of them for you. It's the least we can do for our new friend, King Hamilcar. It will be good practice for the boys." The officer was little more than a boy himself. He was one of two or three named Caesar. There was much repetition in Latin names, and those of senatorial families naturally showed up repeatedly among the officers.

As the reports of his spies came in over the next month, Hanno grew further alarmed. Contingents of soldiery from the north, many of them the size of cohorts or even smaller units called maniples had entered a number of Italian towns, especially the ones with modest ports, such as possessed naval facilities but rarely visited by Carthaginian vessels except in vile weather. The local townsfolk, whether Ligurian or Bruttian, Lucanian, Apulian, Etruscan or Picene, knew not what to make of these outlandish arrivals save for one thing: Large numbers of armed men in their streets were far more terrifying than any number of Carthaginians across the sea. Hanno could only concur since his was the identical situation.

Certain of his spies who were men of some military experience were able to give him the most suggestive of insights. They said that some of these alien soldiers carried and wore arms and armor that displayed all the marks of hasty manufacture but excellent quality. Most were very young men under the authority of obvious veterans of long experience.

Hanno was no soldier, but the implications were plain even to one such as himself: A mighty army had been raised up north at incredible speed. What sort of people were these Romans (for he was by now accustomed to thinking of them as such)? The usual princes of the world commonly took many months to raise even a modest army and many months more to move them in the desired direction. When emergency required the mobilization of great masses of men for war, such formations were almost always ill equipped and poorly trained and disciplined. The results were sometimes catastrophic, as witness the experiences of the kings of Persia when their immense armies encountered the small but superbly equipped and disciplined armies of Greece and Macedonia.

Then a report arrived with the news he had been dreading. A consortium of cattle buyers, among them some of his spies, had traveled in central Italy north of Campania to the Tiber, long a backwater of little consequence. They found that much had changed, and quickly. Lands once cultivated but long reverted to pasture for sheep and cattle were now being surveyed and laid out for agriculture once more. Bewildered peasants, most of them shepherds, had been barred from land where they were accustomed to grazing their stock and were told to move south. Their animals had been bought from them at a reasonable price, but they had been left in no doubt that they were no longer welcome in the territory that had once been Latium.

Even more ominous things awaited on the Tiber plain. In open defiance of the solemn curse pronounced by Hannibal, Rome and its surrounding countryside were being reoccupied. First, traveling north along the Appian Way, they had seen old, dilapidated tombs being restored. As they neared the city, they saw men at work restoring shrines and hoisting new roof beams onto temples fallen into near-ruin. Even the painting and landscaping of the temples and their grounds were being set to rights. Oddly, soldiers, who were kept busy as ants even when they were not drilling, performed much of this work.

Most alarming of all was Rome. They were not allowed to enter the city, but even from a distance they could see that the place was all but reborn. The ancient walls were under reconstruction, river port facilities were being restored even as new roofs were placed on the temples. What looked like vast military camps covered what had once been the Field of Mars. Here gangs of slaves had been brought from somewhere to do much of the work, particularly the digging and drainage work.

Hanno put down this last report with hands that trembled. He knew the truth now: He was "governor" of a territory now under foreign occupation. And yet, the Romans blandly persisted in acting as if nothing of the sort was going on. No, their intentions were only the friendliest. Yes, they had brought along a few extra troops and left them here and there to the north, but that was only to protect their lines of supply and communication. Besides, their new friend the Shofet Hamilcar might require more soldiers for his war, and by this means they could supply the need more quickly.

Hanno did not dare admit that he had sent spies, but remarked that certain travelers recently returned from up north had spoken of a heavy military buildup and a reoccupation of Rome. No, the Romans had said, these amateurs exaggerated, as people inexperienced in military matters so often did. Naturally, the Romans had established bases and of course they had laid out adjacent fields for cultivation and had bought livestock from the local people. Roman legions were expected to be self-supporting to the greatest extent possible. That only made military sense, did the Governor not agree? As for a reoccupation of Rome itself, that was simply untrue. Doubtless some of the soldiers and attached staff went to visit their ancestral tombs and shrines, perhaps touched them up with a bit of fresh paint, but that hardly constituted a reoccupation.

Hanno nodded and smiled and acted as if he believed these outrageous falsehoods. He had little choice. Once again he wrote letters. To Hamilcar he reported that the Romans were in his territory in unnecessarily large numbers and asked for instructions, knowing that he would get none from the preoccupied Shofet. To Zarabel he wrote the unvarnished truth: Italy was back in Roman hands and there was nothing to be done about it short of a major war.

For his temporary command post Titus Norbanus had chosen a spacious villa situated just without the walls of Carthage. It had belonged to a minister who had fallen afoul of the Shofet and earned the cross thereby, along with the immolation of his family in a sacrifice to Baal-Hammon. The main building was situated on a slight rise of ground on the otherwise flat coastal plain. Its terrace afforded a fine view over a grassy field where his legions could be assembled and inspected. Its many rooms and outbuildings served as quarters for those of his under-officers who chose not to camp with their soldiers and the Senate representatives attached to the expedition.

On an afternoon just after inspection, ten days before the legions' scheduled departure for Libya where they would join the greater Carthaginian army, Princess Zarabel had her litter borne to the villa. After ascertaining that Norbanus could receive her in privacy, she alit and entered his staff room with stiff, angry strides, making the bells on her silver-mesh leggings tinkle.

"Titus!" Zarabel hissed. "What are you people up to?" Even visiting him in his command quarters she felt compelled to keep her voice down.

"What do you mean?" Norbanus lounged in a chair by a table stacked with documents. His rigid bronze cuirass lay on the floor beside him and he was dressed in the lightly padded arming tunic that he wore beneath the armor. It included pendant straps of decorated leather at the shoulders and a skirt of the same straps that hung from his lean hips almost to his knees. His ornate military sandals were made of red leather and came to just below his knees, their tops banded with lynx skins from which the paws and tails dangled. She thought him handsome as a Greek god but just now she was enraged at him.

"My agents report that you Romans have reoccupied all of Italy!"

"Your agents? I suppose you must refer to that fat fool Hanno. Your brother seems to have received no such report."

She seethed, having to remind herself for the hundredth time that these Romans were not fools and their minds could work as subtly as her own despite their uncouth words.

"What my brother knows is of no account. Italy is a part of the Carthaginian Empire. Your people were forbidden by Hannibal himself from ever returning. I see that you have taken this temporary military alliance to set aside that law and seize our territory."

He stood and stepped across the room to stand very close before her. "We were coming with or without this alliance, Zarabel. Our gods commanded it. Do you disobey the will of Tank?"

"Of course not." She found his nearness overpowering and cursed her weakness. He always knew how to turn her to his will.

"Then don't expect such impiety from us." He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back. "Be honest. What is Italy to you? Have you ever visited the place? What is Italy to Carthage? A place that produces fairly cheap wool, wine and oil? Some quarries producing rather nice green and white marble? What is that to you? The slave-worked plantations don't produce one fourth what Italian peasants used to get out of the same land, so the grain business is uneconomical. All of Italy's wealth together isn't a fraction of what Hamilcar hopes to seize from Egypt. What is Italy to you?"

"Italy is nothing," she admitted. "But I resent your duplicity. If you wish to plot against my brother, that is one thing. It is another to betray me." She felt that her words were weak. She had chosen him from among the Romans for his weaknesses, but she had not understood his strengths. Most of all, she had not counted upon her own frailty nor foreseen the way her body would respond to his presence, with her mind and spirit following helplessly.

"There is no betrayal, little princess," he said, stroking her shoulder, his hand sliding down. "Your nation and mine follow courses laid down for them centuries ago. We can do nothing about that. What we can do is bend these things to our own greatest benefit. What do you want more than anything else?"

"To be Queen of Carthage," she said. "To replace my brother on the throne and raise the cult of Tanit to its rightful primacy."

"An excellent ambition. Mine is to be Dictator of Rome. Not merely Dictator for six months like those of the past, but Dictator for life. I want to humble the Old Families and set Rome on a course that will guide her for the next thousand years. Between us, we can realize both our dreams."

He slid his hands over her body, making her quiver and gasp. She was skilled in all the erotic arts, but before this man she had practiced on slaves and eunuchs. The nobles who surrounded her at court were for the most part barely men at all. The few men she had ever encountered who seemed masculine to her were too terrified of her to be interesting.

The Roman was different. He was as masculine as any stallion, he was highborn by the standards of his nation and to him she was a woman, not a semi-divine princess. The first time she had shared her body with him she had expected to control him as she always had other males. She was shocked by her own response to his brutal entry and her own ecstatic surrender. What he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in furious energy and oxlike endurance.

Her need for him had grown but she had forced restraint upon herself. She had to be discreet. Her brother would seize any excuse to imprison or kill her. It had now been the better part of a month since she and the Roman had shared a bed and she cursed herself for a weakling. The provocation had been severe, but she knew that she had seized upon it as an excuse to be with him again.

Somehow, she was not certain just how, he had lifted her, carried her back and half-reclined on his chair. There was a quick, deft movement of both their hands, and silver chains, cloth and leather straps were moved aside and she sank onto his maleness, impaling herself as the breath surged from her lungs. For a long time she had no thoughts at all, only sensations. When their coupling came to its shuddering finish, she gathered her thoughts and disengaged herself from him. He seemed disposed to affectionate afterplay but she was having none of it. She needed to retain what ascendancy she had remaining to her.

"Very well," she said. "For the moment, I will keep silent about what I know. Your seizure of Italy will be a great humiliation for my brother and of that I approve. But if you ever play me false, I will make you pray for the cross as a mercy."

"Why should I play you false?" he asked, seeming puzzled at her vehemence, as if they were two children playing a game without consequence. "You are my path to power and I am yours. Together we can rule the world."

"Only if you are completely candid with me. Otherwise, we are enemies and you know how Carthage treats enemies. Both of us tread the most perilous of roads. My brother will kill me if he suspects duplicity. Your Senate will do the same for you if they suspect your ambition. Yes, I have studied your history and I know how the Romans hate the very concept of a king."

"Indeed they do. I shall have to be very careful not to assume that title. We do, however, accept the concept of Dictator. Our custom of divided leadership has its drawbacks so in time of emergency the Senate may appoint a man of supreme, unaccountable power to guide the state until the emergency is over. I intend to win that office and perpetuate it."

"Why should your countrymen be willing to tolerate a man who is king in all but name?" She tugged her clothing back into place and walked to the silver mirror set into one wall. Her cosmetics did not seem to have been disarranged by the hurried coupling.

"It is just a matter of getting them used to the idea. My family is powerful in the Senate, they will agitate for a prolongation of my office and the people will back them." He did not add that the best way to get the Romans used to the idea of a perpetual Dictator was to keep them in a perpetual state of war. The expedition had given him a vision of conquest that stretched far beyond anything now contemplated by the Senate and people of Noricum: first Carthage, then Egypt, and with that power base secured, on to Syria and Parthia, perhaps all the way to India like Alexander. Once the Romans saw the riches to be had and the quality of his leadership, they would beg him to assume supreme power. It now amused him to think that once, like most of the New Family senators, he had thought that the destiny of Noricum lay in the dank forests of the north.

Zarabel was distracted by sounds from without. "Who is coming?"

"Probably your brother." He picked up his cuirass and swung it open on its shoulder-hinges. "He is coming to review the troops this afternoon." He put the cuirass on over his head, closed it and fastened its side-buckles, then tied the white sash of command around his bronze-girt waist, tying it in the ritual knot. From his desk he took his white-plumed helmet and put it on, tying the laces of its cheek plates beneath his chin. "Let's go say hello to him." He picked up his sheathed sword and slung it from his shoulder by its ornate leather baldric.

Zarabel took a deep breath to calm herself and assumed the hieratic demeanor she always employed among the courtiers. Satisfied that she was as chilling as always, she followed the arrogant Roman out onto the terrace.

Hamilcar was borne from the Palace on his military litter. In deference to his current warlike stance, this conveyance was adorned with gilded shields, racks of spears and arrows, its sides painted with battle scenes, its canopy in the form of a ship's sail. At the prow-shaped front the god Patechus squatted over a warship's ram. For the sake of symbolism and good fortune, the bearers wore Egyptian dress.

The Shofet himself wore military uniform: His helmet and cuirass were of hammered gold; the greaves on his shins of hardened leather stitched all over with plaques of carved amber. His military tunic was made of scarlet silk, a marvelous new fabric only recently imported from the Far East at incredible cost. The tunic alone was worth far more than the rest of his sumptuous rig combined. Behind him such of his senior commanders as were not already with the main army rode less splendid litters, along with a number of ministers.

This was to be his final inspection before taking his army to Egypt. He was not a king, and it was the duty of a Shofet to lead the army personally, even in advanced age. At last he was to view his new Roman legions. They had appeared with commendable, indeed almost incredible, dispatch. He hoped that the Romans had not, despite their vaunting words, sent him hastily raised levies of farm boys. If that should prove to be the case, his displeasure would be terrible. He determined that rather than be seen for a fool, he would crucify all the Roman leaders, then use the troops to haul his siege engines up to the walls of Alexandria, work that was certain to get most of them killed.

But when he reached the villa assigned as the Roman headquarters, he found the legions drawn up in fine array. The bearers carried him onto the terrace and the commander Norbanus greeted him with a martial salute. Hamilcar returned it, then frowned when he saw his sister standing in the shade of a portico, dressed indecently, as usual.

He stepped down from the great litter. "Good day, Senator." Then he turned to Zarabel. "I scarcely expected to find you here, Sister."

"I wouldn't miss a spectacle such as this," she said with her maddening calm. "At last we are to see these Roman legions."

"Yes. Well, Commander, shall we begin?"

Norbanus conducted them to the front of the terrace, where sumptuous chairs had been arranged. Hamilcar took the highest, Zarabel one lower and to one side. His officers and ministers arranged themselves as protocol demanded. Norbanus and a few other Roman officers on the terrace declined to sit.

Before them, the legions and auxilia stood in lines that might have been laid out by an architect. Each legion stood formed in a rectangle, its men divided into smaller rectangles formed by cohorts, smaller rectangles yet forming each cohort's centuries. The lines were separated by a pace, the rectangles by about three paces. Before each legion stood its commander, its tribunes, its senior centurion and its standard-bearers. Four golden eagles flashed in the sunlight. Next to the eagle-bearers stood men with huge curving trumpets and others with long straight horns. By each legion its attached cavalry stood mounted, each unit with its own standard-bearers and trumpeters. The cavalry had a special trumpet: straight except for its flaring mouth, which was curved back into a U-shape. It seemed that the Romans did not march to flutes, like Greeks, or to drums, like Carthaginians.

"We will begin with the Consul's review," Norbanus said. "This is how the legions parade before the consuls at the annual muster on the Field of Mars, when they renew their oath." He signaled to the trumpeter who stood before the terrace, and the man played a tuneless series of notes upon his long, straight instrument. It was an astonishingly complex musical construction to emerge from so simple an instrument. Other horns picked up the signal and repeated it.

With incredible speed and cohesion, the soldiers began their evolutions. As the trumpets performed their complex calls, the four legions and their auxilia came together to form a single rectangle, from which forward lines detached themselves to march ahead as if to engage an enemy. When the trumpets called again, these withdrew and the next lines stepped forward and seemed to pass through by magic, for neither the advancing nor the retreating lines were disarranged by the maneuver.

"This is how we keep fresh men at the front lines," Norbanus explained. "Only a small part of the army can actually come to grips with the enemy at any one time, so it is best that the bulk of the army rest. Each line goes ahead to fight for a few minutes, then it retreats and is relieved. While the others fight, those men rest, take care of their wounded and get fresh javelins."

"Very pretty," said a scarred Carthaginian general. "But I would like to see it under battle conditions."

"You shall," Norbanus promised him, "and soon."

To a new set of signals the legions separated by cohorts into a checkerboard formation. "This is far more maneuverable than a single, rectangular mass," Norbanus explained. He showed them how lines could be detached to form a solid front, how the squares could pass through one another to give a double or triple thickness if a flank was threatened or extra depth needed, how units could be wheeled about to face a threat from the rear.

As a final demonstration, the lines tightened into close order and the rectangles seemed to shrink as shield touched shield in the front line. Then the flankers turned their shields about to cover their exposed sides and the men inside the formations raised their shields overhead until they overlapped like tiles on a roof. Then they advanced toward the terrace. The Carthaginians laughed nervously at their awkward, waddling gait, but there was concern in their laughter. There was something implacably ominous in the armor-plated army coming toward them like some great, mythical beast. Indeed, that was the most unsettling thing about these legions: They behaved like a creature with a single nervous system.

"This formation we call the 'tortoise,' " Norbanus said. "It may be used by large formations or small ones and is very useful for advancing under heavy missile fire, or against an enemy fortification. When advanced against a wall, one formation can climb on top of another until they form a stair for the men behind to mount to storm the wall." He saw their disbelieving stares and added, "Not a very high wall, of course."

When the tortoise was twenty paces in front of them it halted, each man's left foot seeming to come down at precisely the same instant. Slowly, the formation subsided as the men within went down on one knee and the shields on the flanks slanted outward.

"Might we see one of these formations climb atop another?" the Shofet said. "That might be a sight worth seeing." "Oh, we can do better than that," Norbanus told them. At his signal, more horns sounded, these with a higher-pitched note. To the unutterable astonishment of the Carthaginian onlookers two cavalry detachments charged the tortoise from both sides. The horses leaped up the slanted shields and onto the roof, and then the men galloped about in a mock-battle, pelting one another with soft-tipped javelins amid a deafening thunder of hooves on shields.

"Why don't the horses slip?" Hamilcar wanted to know. "How do your soldiers hold so firm?" This time he did not bother to conceal his amazement.

"The men have good inducement to hold steady," Norbanus said. "A horse coming down through the roof would probably hurt."

At last the horsemen rode off and they could all hear the cheering of the citizens viewing the spectacle from atop the walls of the city. The legionaries separated into their formations and, at another set of trumpet calls, they marched past the Shofet, their centurions saluting him in passing, the men looking neither to the right nor to the left. As they did this, it finally occurred to Hamilcar that all of this had been accomplished with trumpet calls alone. He had not heard a single officer's voice raised in the usual sweating, swearing harangue. It did not seem possible, but he had seen this with his own eyes. He turned to his subordinates. "I think our money was well spent," he said.

Hamilcar got a final demonstration of Roman military practice two days later. It was the day for the march to Egypt. Hamilcar and his household troops, along with the Romans, would leave Carthage and march eastward, picking up the remainder of the army where it was quartered in Carthaginian territory, thence to join the bulk of his forces massed at the border.

With his principal officers, the Shofet rode from the city amid a multitude, chanting, cheering and waving holy emblems. Huge statues of the gods rolled through the streets on brazen wheels to witness and confer their blessings on the expedition. From the temple steps the priests and priestesses wailed their imprecations against the enemy and tons of incense burned to waft the prayers of Carthage heavenward.

As the procession passed the great temple of Tanit, he saw the princess Zarabel conducting the temple clergy in a hymn of praise. He did not see the cursing gestures she made toward his back, nor did he see her spit after him as she pronounced a terrible execration in a low voice.

Once outside the city, the Shofet descended from his litter and mounted a horse. With his entourage he rode to the Roman camp. It lay within an earthen rampart raised by the legionaries and he saw to his astonishment that the camp still stood: street after street of leather tents, arranged in the orderly, rectilinear fashion favored by the Romans. The men stood in the streets holding the reins of their pack animals, but not a single tent had yet been struck. He rode to the knot of officers centered upon Titus Norbanus.

"What is the meaning of this, Commander?" Hamilcar demanded. "I expected you to be ready to march!"

"It is our usual custom to be on the march before dawn, but today we waited for your arrival." He nodded to his trumpeter, who sounded a single note. The unit trumpeters repeated the note and men stooped and jerked tent pegs from the ground. There came a second note and men pulled out the supporting poles. Before Hamilcar's eyes, thousands of tents collapsed as if crushed by the blow of a single, gigantic hand.

Men swarmed over the fallen tents, folded them and loaded them on the pack beasts. With another flourish of trumpets the eagle-bearers marched from the camp gate, followed by the legionaries and auxilia in their units, then the cavalry and finally the noncombatants with the baggage animals. Where moments before there had stood a veritable city, there were now earthen ramparts with no trace of human habitation within. Breaking camp, getting into marching order and getting the whole force moving, a task that took most armies at least an hour and often far longer than that, the Romans had accomplished in perhaps five minutes.

Hamilcar knew now that he had hired some matchless soldiers and he was well pleased with the bargain. Governor Hanno had reported some troubling things about these people, but that was a trifling matter. He wanted to give an oration, to say heroic things about this momentous occasion, but somehow in the presence of these men he did not feel up to it.

Instead he said, simply: "Let's go to Egypt."