Hannibal's children

Chapter 18

I think it is time to dispose of this Roman,” Eutychus said.

"Not just yet," Parmenion cautioned.

The First Eunuch studied the general with a bland expression. "I would think that you, of all men, would want to see him out of the way now."

The two watched from the highest of the western guard towers as Marcus Scipio, accompanied by Princess Selene, oversaw the defenses in preparation for the arrival of the Carthaginian army. He had been unofficial supervisor for weeks. Now that Parmenion's position hung by a thread, she had little difficulty in making the appointment official.

"I have much to do now," the general said. "Let the man have this clerk's appointment for the nonce. We will take care of him and Selene in time."

Eutychus gave Alexandras an eloquent look and the Prime Minister answered with his own raised eyebrows. Parmenion had shifted the blame for the battle to the commander of the cavalry, for failing to flank and destroy the right wing of Hamilcar's host. The unfortunate Commander and his principal officers had been beheaded before the boy-king and in the presence of the rest of Ptolemy's officers, to encourage them.

The Prime Minister and First Eunuch held their own counsel. They knew all about shifting blame. They had heard reports from the battlefield that Hamilcar's right had been held by his new Roman mercenaries and that these men had fought like the old Spartans.

"Hamilcar is slow in arriving," Alexandras noted. "I expected to see his troops camped among the tombs days ago." From the western wall of Alexandria a vast necropolis stretched toward the setting sun. The Roman had urged that the tombs nearest the wall be demolished, for they would provide cover for Hamilcar's men from arrows and stones. But the Alexandrians had adopted certain native Egyptian customs and values, and to them the tombs of the dead were more important than the homes of the living.

"He is in no rush," Parmenion told them. "He won't stir from the battlefield until his siege train catches up. Hamilcar loves war engines as much as our Roman."

"He is becoming a popular man in the city," Eutychus noted, "and the princess has always been popular."

Parmenion snorted. "Popular! The mob loves him because he provides them with diverting spectacles. He plays with toys like those absurd underwater boats and the fool from the Museum who thinks he's a bird. They think there is something magical in these mechanical follies."

"Do you think any of these things could prove useful?" the First Eunuch asked.

"Maybe if the Carthaginians laugh hard enough, they'll be easier to kill," Parmenion said sourly. "Otherwise, they will prove utterly worthless."

Marcus Scipio sighted along the missile trough of one of the improved ballistas. In testing, its doubling of twisted cords and curved launching arms had provided an extra fifty percent of effective range. But even this was trifling compared to the new catapults. They were still under construction on a platform behind the wall. These had been invented by a man named Endymion who had some theories concerning leverage and the behavior of falling bodies. He applied these theories to the common staff-sling and produced engines that could hurl huge weights for unprecedented heights and distances.

"Can these things really win a war?" Selene asked, doubt heavy in her voice.

Marcus laughed. "No! But, skillfully employed, they can give us an advantage. Nothing wins wars except superior fighting and greater numbers and better tactics. And luck. Let us never forget luck. But if a good tool comes to hand and the enemy doesn't have that tool, it can be used to advantage."

They ranged along the wall, the soldiers bowing their way before them, and they assessed the state of the defenses. In the harbor they saw the new warships being towed to their docks. These were not the exotic underwater boats but they looked as outrageous: galley-length vessels twice the breadth of the common ships, with no trace of mast or sail. Instead, they were covered by humped superstructures plated with overlapping scales of bronze. They terminated in huge, saw-toothed rams. Indeed, each ship was simply an oversized ram, and they were not seaworthy. They were designed strictly for harbor defense and Marcus had dubbed them "crocodiles."

One of the full-sized underwater boats had finally been completed and it was undergoing trials in the harbor. A huge bronze saw protruded from its back like the spine of a dragon. A bronze housing near the bow held the mirror device for seeing above the water. It meant that the vessel could only submerge for one to two cubits and retain vision, but that would be sufficient depth to rip the bottom from a shallow-draught Carthaginian ship. Ramming without destroying the vision device was going to present some challenges, but the odd vessel's skipper thought he had devised tactics to prevent this.

Above the walls stood the burning-mirrors and the more conventional engines of war. The remnants of the beaten army were housed in the Macedonian barracks near the palace and more were arriving from the east, drawn from the garrisons of the Sinai. It would leave Egypt open to aggression from Syria, but the losses had to be made up somehow, and Hamilcar was the more immediate threat.

"It's unfortunate about the flying machine," he remarked.

Selene rolled her eyes. A man named Sostris had made several model flying machines out of reeds and parchment, and some of these had succeeded in gliding for a hundred paces or more. He was building devices large enough to carry a man, but thus far the results had been severe bruises to Sostris and broken bones to some of his slaves. He had indeed contrived to glide for modest distances on batlike wings of wood and leather, but controlling such things as altitude and direction so far eluded him. He had tried gluing on feathers, for he believed that these provided lift, but to no avail. His first designs had included flapping wings worked by the arms in the fashion of Icarus, but these had proven futile. "Men must have been stronger back then," he was heard to remark.

"Perhaps some things should remain in the world of myth," Selene said. "A man flying through the air might draw unwanted attention from the gods."

"That is very unenlightened of you," Marcus said. "Chilo says that the gods are too great to be bothered by the ambitions of mere mortals."

"I know very well what Chilo says. But perhaps you are moving too fast into this world of the fantastic. What next? Tables like those of Hephaestos that roll about under their own power, delivering refreshments? The statues he crafted in the form of beautiful women that acted as if alive and were his servants?"

"Hardly necessary. Ordinary slaves do that sort of work just as well." He smiled at the exasperated noise she made. They had this argument often. Her original enthusiasm was cooling somewhat and he feared she was more under the influence of the Museum's Platonists than even she realized.

She turned to more serious things. "My informants tell me that my brother's controllers want you killed."

"I suppose they do," Marcus answered, unperturbed. "If I was in their position, I'd have had me killed long before now. They assumed I was a harmless crank. Now they know better."

She shook her head. "I don't understand you. I don't understand any other Roman, for that matter. You are all alone in an alien land, where the most powerful men want you dead, and you simply take charge of its defenses as if you'd been appointed Grand Marshal!"

"I have you to thank for that. You don't exactly rule in your own right, but with the king a mere boy and his ministers unpopular, you can act as if you actually had the authority to appoint me to high command. The rest is pure style."

She was bewildered. This man always bewildered her. He seemed like the most provincial, unsophisticated bumpkin imaginable, then proceeded to act like the subtlest schemer ever raised in a decadent court. "Style? What do you mean?"

He picked up a heavy ballista projectile and tested it for straightness. "It is very simple, something we learned from the old Spartans. You know your history. Typically, a number of Greek states of some league or other would prepare for war on some other Greeks. There might be three or four generals at a conference, each of them bringing several thousand men to the war. Then a Spartan commander would arrive with maybe two or three hundred men in tow. What happened then?"

"The Spartan took charge," she answered.

"Every time. Even after the Spartans lost their reputation for invincibility at Leuctra. Men always defer to a military man who knows what he is doing, and shows it. In past days, it was the Spartans. Now it is the Romans."

"And what are you Romans up to?" she asked, dead serious. "You are here helping with my defenses. Your friends are out there with Hamilcar's army, preparing to attack. You are playing some game, and I want to know what it is. You've said that you will make me sole ruler of Egypt. I want that. But not if it means being your puppet."

He drew his cloak aside and sat in an archer's crenel set into the battlement. He patted the stone bench beside him. "Sit here, my queen."

Frowning suspiciously, she sat, conscious as always of this man's force and masculinity, determined as always not to let these things cloud her judgment. She had been raised a philosopher, supposedly above such things. "So tell me."

"Those legions approaching Alexandria are not there to help Hamilcar. They are there to make Rome great. That is what the legions always do. I am here to save Egypt from Hamilcar. I am also here to save Rome from Egypt."

"That makes no sense."

"Ah, but you are not thinking like a philosopher. I've been spending a lot of time with the Archimedeans, but I've also been attending lectures by logicians. I like the way they analyze the nature of reality and the way we think. You see the way Rome is acting and the way I am acting and it all seems to make no sense. What should that tell you?"

"Don't lecture me like a child. It means that I am not in possession of all the facts, assuming that there is sense to be made. It could also mean that you are insane and your behavior irrational. Now tell me."

"All right," he said, smiling. "The fact is, Rome could take Egypt easily. Your army is weak, your court decadent, your ministers corrupt. Only Alexandria is strong. If Alexandria were to fall, the people of Egypt would not rise up to throw out the conqueror. They have been ruled by foreigners for many centuries and you Ptolemies are only the latest pack of foreigners to oppress them. They would be about as content with the Carthaginians in charge, and a great deal more so with Rome. We know how to treat subject peoples with great firmness but with fairness and always with the prospect of future citizenship and advancement."

"You think much of yourselves," she said, glowering.

"So we do, and with good reason. But I fear what Egypt will do to Rome." He paused but she said nothing. "You see, what our republic has is an extremely competitive government. Each senator wants to excel above all the others. Each senatorial family wants to have more wealth, prestige, honor and power than all the others. An incredible amount of our political energy goes into building factions and voting blocs in order to secure the highest commands.

"Right now, the Senate must be in a frenzy with a hundred senators each wanting to be commanding an army when we take Carthage. Great wealth corrupts, Selene. It is going to be bad when we sack Carthage because gold will pour into Roman coffers in incredible amounts. The lands will be divided up and the highest officers will get the best estates. It could cause us to lose our edge. I'll remind you of the Spartans again."

"What about them?"

"They were famous for their simplicity and frugality. Even the highest nobles lived in military camps, slept on the ground, ate horrible black soup and owned no luxuries. Even their money was made of iron. But they were able to despise wealth and luxury because they were never exposed to these things. They were always easy to bribe and corrupt once they were away from Sparta, and that was why the Spartan ephors hated to send armies abroad or use them for occupation or garrison duties."

"And you think this may happen to the Romans?"

"I fear it will. Carthage must be destroyed. Our ancestors and our gods demand it. But at least the wealth of Carthage consists primarily of plunder. Once it is stripped, it is just a city on a rather nice stretch of coastline. Egypt is different. Egypt represents wealth unimaginable and everlasting. The general who takes Egypt will instantly be the wealthiest man in the world, able to set himself up as an independent king, should he so wish. He will be able to buy the loyalty of his soldiers with immense gifts that cost him little. The Senate will tear itself apart as men try to secure the important commands and prevent their rivals from doing the same. There could be civil war."

"I see. So what is your answer to this?"

"I must convince the Senate of the unwisdom of conquering Egypt, that our best course is to continue Ptolemaic rule here, to support you in power, and to stay out of Egypt ourselves."

"Do you think you can do this?"

"I think so. I have enemies in the Senate but I have friends as well. And there are a good many far-sighted men there. They will see the danger ahead and will know that the benefits of conquest must be commensurate with the risks. There will be plenty of other distractions: the Seleucids, Macedon and the Parthians.

"Since Alexander's time a sort of balance has held around the Middle Sea: The kingdoms of the Successors and Carthage have played one against the other and sometimes this nation would be ascendant and sometimes that, but there has been no real change. Now we Romans are back on the Middle Sea and everything will change."

Selene restrained a shiver. "You have great breadth of vision," she said. "I am sorry that I ever thought you ignorant and simple. Your Senate knew what it was doing in sending you to assess the possibilities for Rome."

He stood. "Come on. We haven't surveyed half the defenses yet. Let's try to stay alive for the next few days. Then we'll see about arranging the future of the world."

Titus Norbanus rode ahead of the army with his most trusted officers and a squadron of Gallic cavalry, all of them expert skirmishers and scouts. He wanted to see for himself what these vaunted defenses of Alexandria looked like. The chain of small forts west of the city were already invested and would be reduced in no great time. He suspected that their Alexandrian defenders would very sensibly negotiate an advantageous surrender, knowing already what defeat by Carthage would mean.

Before them, the walls of the city rose slowly from the flat plain. The plume of smoke from the great lighthouse was visible for hours before the structure itself came in sight. The lighthouse was visible long before they could see the upper part of the walls. But after the lighthouse, the walls were a disappointment. They had little of the stunning massiveness of the walls of Carthage. He remarked upon this to Lentulus Niger.

"So they don't use them as a stable for elephants," said the quartermaster. "And according to Brutus, the soldiers are barracked inside the city. I'd like to know more about the quality of the men manning those walls."

"We saw their quality on the battlefield," Norbanus said, a little put out to hear the walls of Carthage so casually dismissed. He had come to take a proprietary interest in them.

"Those men did not fight too badly," said Niger. "They were poorly led, but so was Hamilcar's army. It was their bad luck to have us to contend with. And I'll wager we saw only a part of Ptolemy's army that day. He'll have more men to defend his walls, and maybe better ones."

The mounted force had ranged out in front of them and when they were within three miles of the city, the cavalry returned. Its commander, a scion of the New Family Nervius, rode up and saluted. "There's what looks like a small city outside the walls of the great one," he said, grinning. "Come have a look. We haven't spotted a single roving patrol."

They rode toward the western gate of Alexandria. "They're staking all upon a siege," Norbanus said. "There will be no fight outside the gates or the army would be there waiting."

"One more pitched battle and we could wrap this war up," said Cato, commander of the Eighth Legion. "A siege of a city this large could last for months. Years, maybe." He spat in disgust.

"What's this?" Niger said as they came upon the minor city.

"It's the necropolis Brutus and the others reported about," Norbanus said. "Did you ever imagine such a thing?"

Before them stretched a vast array of tombs, the least of them as large as a peasant's hut, many of them far larger. They stood upon a grid of rigidly straight streets, arranged in symmetrical blocks, like a smaller image of Alexandria itself. They were in the form of houses and temples, some Greek in design, some Egyptian, many of them a combination of both. Here and there stood statues of various gods, sphinxes, shrines, obelisks and freestanding pillars with lotus or papyrus capitals having no discernible function. There were even tiny parks and gardens just like the ones in the city, only smaller. They rode among the tombs, looking about in idle amazement.

"Is this wise?" Nervius asked. "This would be an excellent place to lay an ambush."

"The Alexandrians lack such initiative," Norbanus said. "They have elected to huddle behind their walls and that is where they will stay until we winkle them out."

"Speaking of the walls," Cato said, "they look larger from close up."

"Indeed they do," Norbanus said. Now they rode forward cautiously, at a slow walk. "Mucius, what would you estimate to be the range of those engines?"

Decimus Mucius Mus was a former centurion, now attached to Norbanus's staff as chief engineer. "Right about here," he said. "Best to go no closer."

"Oh, I'm not worried they'll cut loose at us," Norbanus said. "They won't waste ammunition on a few horsemen. They'll wait for the main force. I just want to know for future reference. Let's go up to extreme bowshot."

So they rode on, until they were fewer than three hundred paces from the walls. Now the battlement above the western gate was crowded by men whose plumed crests identified them as Alexandrian officers, come to see this harbinger of the Carthaginian host. The great engines atop the walls looked to Norbanus much like those defending Carthage. A few were of unfamiliar design but they all seemed to serve the same purposes: to hurl great stones, oversized javelins or incendiary missiles into the masses of an attacking army. On the harbor side they would do exactly the same to enemy ships. The only exceptions were the giant reflectors, and he saw none of those atop the western wall.

"What are those?" Norbanus said, pointing to a line of mastlike timbers that towered above the battlements. Whatever they were attached to was invisible behind the wall. From the top of each dangled a long rope and some device of chains and hooks, but distance obscured the details.

"Anyone's guess," Mucius said. "They look too long and spindly for catapult arms, but people in this part of the world seem fond of their machines. For all I know, they hold up the awnings for their circus."

"There's a familiar face," Norbanus said, almost whispering.

"Eh?" said Niger. All of them tried to see what Norbanus was looking at. Right above the gate a man leaned on the battlement, his arms spread wide. Beside him a woman gazed out at them. "You think that's him? I can't make out a face at this distance. His outfit looks Roman."

"It's Scipio," Norbanus affirmed. "I'd know that traitor from a mile away on a dark night in Donar's Wood." His voice was easy and conversational, but it carried an edge that made his companions study him. "When I triumph, I will drag him in chains along the Via Sacra and up to the Capitol and I will hurl him off the Tarpeian Rock with my own hands."

"You won't get a triumph for this war," Cato said.

"Besides," Niger added, "Rome isn't officially at war with Egypt, and Scipio's just advising Ptolemy in a war with Hamilcar. You can't charge him with treason for that." He was their superior but they were not in awe of him. Military commands were political appointments and every one of them had more experience in military command than Norbanus. Alliances could change and any of them might end up in charge.

"What we do here is just politics," Mucius said, "even if there's a bit of fighting involved."

"Nonetheless," Norbanus told them, "when I triumph, I will drag him in chains along the Via Sacra."

The conference was held in Hamilcar’s great tent. There was no banquet this time, no sacrifices other than the ones customary for such an occasion. Beside the Shofet sat the general Mastanabal, resplendent in a coat of gilded scales, his plumed helmet held by a slave who stood behind him. He looked supremely pleased and confident, still puffed up by the victory of several days previous. He did not accord the Romans credit for the victory any more than did the Shofet. Near them sat the higher Carthaginian officers and the commanders of the mercenaries.

Norbanus and his officers sat across from them. In a subtle way the balance had shifted. Hamilcar was no longer dismissive of the Romans. He accorded them some deference and the others perforce must follow. This did not go so far as to give them credit for the victory, but it was an acknowledgment all the same.

"Tomorrow," Hamilcar began when the cups were filled, "shall be a momentous day. At first light we shall commence the assault upon Alexandria. The gods of Carthage will smile upon our endeavors." He looked around him and smiled. "As, I am sure, shall the gods of our esteemed allies." If the Romans looked astonished at the idea of Jupiter, Juno and the rest smiling upon a Shofet of Carthage, he affected not to notice.

"The naval forces are now in place. As we attack the western wall, the navy will attack the harbors and the island of Pharos. Before noon tomorrow, you will see my banners flying from atop the great lighthouse." His followers applauded politely.

"A brave sight, I am sure," Norbanus commented, wondering if the Shofet really thought such a trifling gesture to be significant.

"Your legions will have the honor of leading the first assault on the walls," Hamilcar said.

"An honor we must respectfully decline, Shofet," Norbanus said casually.

Hamilcar frowned. "Refuse? How so? Are you Romans not justly famed for martial prowess? Are you cowards that you fear to commence the assault?" Mastanabal and the other Carthaginians of high rank watched them with sardonic expressions, happy to see the arrogant foreigners put into such a position: Accept extreme peril or stand revealed as cowards.

Norbanus seemed not at all bothered by the situation. "My Shofet, generals of Carthage, we are all soldiers here. We know quite well that Alexandria will not fall to the first assault, nor to the second, nor the third. But a great many men will fall in those assaults. You do not waste such soldiers as my legionaries in this costly but necessary business. For this, you use those great mobs from your subject cities, the ones of whose loyalty you are doubtful. They accomplish the necessary work and their loss hurts only those cities you hold in subjection. My advice would be to send them in and station behind them those excellent pikemen sent to you by King Lysimachus of Macedon. Those pikes leveled at their backs should give them any encouragement they might need."

It was some time before the Shofet spoke. "I see. And I suppose you would prefer to remain in reserve?" Hamilcar glowered and his generals all but sneered.

"Oh, by no means," Norbanus said. "In fact, I envision for us a task that is both extremely demanding as well as hazardous. If I may?" He snapped his fingers and a team of Roman slaves entered the tent, carrying on their shoulders a table. They set it on the carpet-covered ground and the occupants of the tent gathered round with interest. It was knee height, perhaps eight feet by five feet, and upon it had been built a detailed scale model of the city, including the Pharos Island, the harbors and the lakeshore.

"This is marvelous," the Shofet said, intrigued in spite of himself. "Did your artisans really construct this since our arrival here?"

"Most of it," Norbanus said. "We already had drawings and surveys to work from and many of the buildings were made in idle hours while the men trained."

"And the origin of these drawings and surveys?" Hamilcar asked, reminding Norbanus that he was no fool.

"Certain Romans have visited Alexandria in recent months," Norbanus told him.

"Certain Romans have visited Carthage as well. Do you possess a model like this of my own city?"

"It is a matter of standard procedure with us," Norbanus said, knowing it was a touchy moment but understanding that protest would sound feeble.

Hamilcar smiled. "I'd have crucified you all if you had denied it." His generals laughed uproariously, as if this were the most hilarious prospect imaginable. "Now, show me your plan."

From one of the slaves Norbanus took a pointer. "The harbor and the western wall are the logical places to assault. You want to deny the Alexandrians the use of their harbor, and it is a weak spot. You could ferry a force to the east and cut them off from reinforcement from that direction, but it makes sense to leave them someplace to run. An army or a city can be demoralized, knowing that an unguarded back door is open."

"As you demonstrated at the recent battle," Hamilcar said.

Norbanus inclined his head slightly. "That leaves the lake frontage." With the pointer he indicated the narrow bench of land between the southern wall and Lake Mareotis. "The wall here is relatively low, weak, and ill-defended. Also, this is Alexandria's access to the Nile."

"It is tempting," Hamilcar said, "but the strip of land is too narrow for offensive maneuvers. It won't support enough troops, we can't get our siege towers onto it and every bit of it is under enemy missile fire. It's no wonder the Alexandrians didn't bother to build their walls high there."

"Give me that part of the operation," Norbanus said. "Let my legions work at the southern wall, and I will cut Alexandria off from the Nile and provide Ptolemy with amusement from that quarter."

Hamilcar stared at the frail strip of land on the table, then at Norbanus. "Are you mad? You will be slaughtered! There is no cover between the wall and the lake."

"We are good at this kind of fighting," Norbanus assured him.

"My Shofet," said Mastanabal, "it seems that these Romans indeed want to take the hero's role. I urge you to let them do as he asks. Why deny them the opportunity to earn so much honor?"

"Why, indeed?" Hamilcar said. "General Norbanus, I agree to your plan. At first light tomorrow, commence your operations against the southern wall of Alexandria."

The Roman party left. Norbanus was smiling and the others were pleased as well.

"That was well done, Titus," Lentulus Niger admitted. "You got us out of a stupid frontal assault and made him think that it's we that will get killed. How long will he stay hoodwinked?"

"As long as necessary," Norbanus said. "Tomorrow his attack will be repulsed, but he'll be happy because he'll see his pretty banner fluttering from the top of the lighthouse. The next few days he'll be enthralled by the sheer spectacle of it all and he won't notice that he's losing men in droves while we're taking hardly any casualties at all."

"He'll notice eventually," Cato said. "If nothing else, Mastanabal will point it out to him."

"By then he'll have accomplished little or nothing while we've cut off Alexandria from the Nile and made good headway at taking the southern wall. He can't argue with that."

"He won't argue," Cato said. "He'll send in his own men to continue the work once he sees how it's done, then he'll order us into the next assault on the western gate. What then?"

"Then," Norbanus said, "it will be time to renegotiate our agreement with our friend the Shofet Hamilcar."