Hannibal's children

Chapter 19

Titus Norbanus was on Hamilcar’s battle tower when the assault began. He was not needed at the southwestern corner of the city, where his own legions were about to commence their operations. His subordinates knew their tasks to perfection and he was not needed there. A pity, really, he thought. He would have liked to lead his men personally for the sake of the honor, but this was not truly to be a battle. It was more like an engineering project. There would be nothing for him to do, while here, at least, he would be able to observe.

The tower commanded a fine view across the necropolis to the western wall of the city, as well as a good deal of the Eunostos harbor and the Pharos. It made a splendid sight as the sun began to rise from somewhere behind the city. The towers and temple roofs of the splendid polis began to gleam and the bizarre artificial hill of the Paneum took misty shape in the distance.

"A fine morning for battle, eh?" said Hamilcar, in fine high spirits as his dreams were about to be realized. He sat on his golden throne, strewn with the skins of rare beasts, while his commanders stood around him.

"I cannot imagine a finer," Norbanus said, accepting a cup of warmed and spiced wine from a slave. It was early in the day but this occasion justified a bit of luxury.

"My Shofet," said Mastanabal, "I beg your leave. I must go and take charge of my men."

"Go, my friend, and may Baal-Hammon stand by your side this day."

The general beckoned to his officers. "Come." He donned his helmet and strode down the ramp that descended fifty feet or more to the ground below. The Shofet was left with his slaves, a small group of counselors and bodyguards, and Titus Norbanus.

"Something is different over there," Norbanus said.

"What?" the Shofet asked.

"Those mast-things. They're gone. Where are they?"

Hamilcar peered toward the city. It was now light enough to see that the towering timbers were, indeed, gone. He shrugged. "We don't even know what they were. It is no matter."

This, Norbanus thought, was most likely true. Still, it was an anomaly, and war was full enough of surprises without such worrisome matters. "Will your navy attack first, or the soldiers?" he asked.

"The same signal will start them both," Hamilcar said. "But the ships will reach their objectives first, so the first blood will be drawn on the water." He gazed proudly out to sea, where his fleet was drawn up in a vast, crescent-shaped formation, ready to swoop down upon Alexandria like a great bird of prey. The Alexandrian fleet awaited in three straight lines just without the mouth of the harbor, a mighty fleet but not so large as Hamilcar's. Behind it a great chain stretched from a fort on the northwestern corner of the city to the western end of the Pharos, blocking the harbor entrance. Taking Pharos would give Hamilcar control of that chain, as well as the other that blocked the Royal Harbor.

The sun rose gloriously above Alexandria, and Hamilcar took this as an auspicious moment to begin the battle. He raised his hand and the drums began to thunder. The soldiers below raised their shields and shook their spears and roared. At the same moment, at sea, the oars of the Carthaginian fleet rose and fell and churned the sea to foam all in unison. Men and ships surged forward. Titus Norbanus had never before seen a sight so stirring. This, he thought, was what it meant to be a king: to set such a thing in motion by raising your hand.

The army moved forward on a front a half-mile wide, but it had to divide into many files to pass through the necropolis, like a vast parade taking several roads through a city instead of only one. They were still more than two bowshots from the city wall when something strange happened: Abruptly, the mast-things appeared once more above the city walls as if swung up by the arms of giants. As they ascended, enormous slings swung from their terminals, climbing in huge, graceful arcs until an end of each was released. From each sling soared an object, small in the distance, to mount an incredible height, and then come back down with dreamlike slowness.

Only when the missiles landed among the tombs did the watchers understand how large they were. They were stone balls of at least five hundred pounds' weight and when they hit, they shattered into flesh-shredding fragments, caromed off the walls of tombs, rolled down the alleys and toppled rows of men like pieces in a game played by gods. The carnage was fearsome and the advance faltered.

"What are those things?" Hamilcar cried.

"Some sort of giant staff-sling," Norbanus said. "It must use a new principle. Twisted ropes can't power those things. They have three times the range of ordinary catapults." He watched, saw the masts being hauled down and did some mental calculations. "You must press the assault hard. Call in the Macedonians if you have to. Those weapons are high-trajectory and they must take a long time between shots. Once the men are within bowshot of the city, they're safe from those things."

Hamilcar gave some quick orders and the drums sounded again. The faltering advance resumed. Again the giant slings hurled their missiles and again men died, but the fire was not as intense after that first volley and now the men had some idea of what to expect. They took cover behind tombs and hurried forward to get inside the range of the fearsome catapults.

With this novelty past, Norbanus and the Shofet turned their attention to the battle outside the harbor. The two fleets were nearing one another, fireballs and other missiles arching back and forth, here and there a ship already in flames. Then the fleets merged in a great confusion and the sounds of ramming and the shredding of wood and the screaming of men came faintly across the water.

The Carthaginian land force was now through the necropolis and bearing its scaling ladders toward the wall. Arrows and stones began to fall among them and men came forward with mantlets: large shields the size of doors, handled by two men. Some of these were propped up with poles and from behind them archers began to shoot at the battlements above.

The first ladders reached the wall and the bravest men began to climb. Stones killed some, and logs or stone pillars were rolled over the battlements, smashing men and ladders alike. Great kettles of hot oil were tipped over and men fell screaming.

"Why are they so slow attacking the gate?" Hamilcat said.

"I think a stone struck the ram," Norbanus told him. "It might be a good idea to take the heavy equipment through the necropolis tonight, when it can't be seen."

"I want to be in possession of Alexandria by tonight."

Norbanus shrugged. "That would be nice." He wondered if the Shofet truly believed that a fortified city like this could be taken with a day's attack. Given his overblown pride, it was possible.

"The marines are on the island!" Hamilcar said excitedly.

Norbanus looked in the direction of the pointing finger. At sea, all appeared to be mass confusion, but this was deceptive. He could see that the Alexandrian fleet was being pushed back and was almost against the harbor chain. If they didn't lower it soon, he thought, the remnants of the fleet would be crushed. Even as this thought crossed his mind, he saw the chain grow slack and ships either turned or backed water, fleeing to the safety of the harbor.

The Carthaginian ships pressed all the harder, trying to force an entrance to the harbor. Several managed to get over the chain and were among the demoralized Alexandrian remnants. One of the Carthaginian ships, on the periphery of the mingled fleets, began to swing around. It was preparing to ram a crippled Alexandrian trireme. Norbanus thought he saw a jagged log floating up to the Carthaginian, moving as if it had some purpose. The Carthaginian shuddered and, with shocking abruptness, began to sink. It went down quickly, as if it had not merely been holed but had its entire bottom ripped out.

"What happened?" Hamilcar said. "What just happened there?"

Norbanus just shook his head. It was a mystery. Then he saw something even stranger. A number of vessels rowed out from the docks to confront the intruders. More were coming through the arches in the Heptastadion. These were like nothing he had ever seen: low, scaly things like dragons floating on the quiet water of the harbor. They made for the enemy and began to ram, their weight and momentum so great that Carthaginian ships were lifted on their rams, overturned, even broken in two.

"The Alexandrians do love their military toys," Hamilcar said disgustedly. "It's no matter. They resorted to this because they could not defeat us on the water."

Norbanus shrugged. What difference did that make? The fact was, the Alexandrians were stopping the fleet in its tracks. The great reflectors atop the walls swung about, focusing the sun's rays on the enemy ships, now conveniently immobilized in the harbor. One by one, they burst into flames. This sight would once have chilled him, but he had already seen the reflectors demonstrated.

As Hamilcar had noted, the specially built troop transports had reached the island and dropped their broad gangplanks. The marines were storming ashore. These were mainly Greeks and Cilicians: men expert in amphibious warfare, which was an extension of their traditional piracy. Teams split off from the main body, some to attack the towers where the harbor chains were anchored, some to deal with the island's small garrison, others to carry the Shofet's banner to the great lighthouse. All this had been planned far in advance. Norbanus grudgingly admitted that this, at least, was an operation well planned and carried out by men who knew their work.

The sun glittered from arms and armor, from shields and helmets, and in the drifting smoke it was difficult to determine whether anyone was winning or losing. At the wall the ram had finally been repaired and it began to boom against the western gate, its bronze head in the form of a snarling demon with huge, curling horns. Drums thundered and trumpets brayed.

Altogether, Norbanus thought, it was a fine, stirring sight, one well worth traveling far to see. He settled into a folding chair and gestured for more wine. It was going to be a long day.

“The new defenses are working,” Selene said. She and Scipio stood on a tower overlooking the harbor. It was here that the crucial fight of the morning was taking place. There would be no real danger from the western wall for some time to come, if ever. The harbor was different. The harbor was crucial, and the Carthaginians excelled at naval warfare.

"Look," Marcus said, pointing. The underwater boat, having been successful in its first attack, had chosen another target. The upper few inches of its hull was just above the water, the gleaming serrations of the bronze saw looking like nothing so much as the spine of a great reptile. In its eerily sentient fashion, it began to speed toward a Carthaginian trireme that was trying to back out of the harbor with half its oars smashed. Along the Carthaginian's side, men gibbered and pointed as the unearthly thing approached them. At a distance of a hundred paces, the hull sank from view, leaving only the jagged teeth to cut the water. Then they, too, went under and there was a momentary lull. Then the Carthaginian ship shuddered as if a gigantic, invisible hand had grasped it and shook it. There was no visible damage, but with shocking speed it filled with water and sank. A hundred paces beyond it, the underwater boat reappeared. Its hatch opened and the skipper's head appeared. Satisfied that the enemy was finished, he ducked below and closed the hatch. The strange craft began to look for another victim.

"Wonderful!" Selene cried, clapping her hands delightedly as a hundred or more enemy sailors were dragged down to their deaths. "Before long, our dragon will account for the whole enemy fleet!"

"Maybe if we had fifty more," Marcus said. "But pretty soon they'll figure out what it is. If just one of them can work up the nerve to ram, she's done. It's a fragile craft. In the long run, the plated ships may be of more use."

Out on the water, the great crocodiles were methodically ramming whatever strayed within range. They were slow, but with their great weight they crushed the enemy ships as if they were made of parchment. Time and again, they saw the stones and javelins flung from enemy catapults glance off the plating. Wads of burning pitch and tow clung to the plates and flamed furiously, but they did no damage and only contributed to the illusion that the Carthaginians were engaged with a pack of mythical dragons.

The harbor chain was cranked back into place and the enemy ships in the harbor were now cut off and without hope. One after another, the Carthaginian ships still afloat lowered their banners and sued for terms. White-robed heralds were rowed out in small boats to conduct the negotiations. Beyond the chain, the rest of the Carthaginian fleet fumed with impotence. On their side of the chain, they had won decisively. Beyond it, gods or demons seemed to have taken a hand and delivered their friends to the Alexandrians.

"How many have they landed on the island?" Selene asked.

"Enough. And if it's not enough, they will just land more. We knew from the first that Pharos couldn't be defended. They'll have it by nightfall, but it won't do them much good."

"I know," she said. "But I hate to think of our wonderful lighthouse in Carthaginian hands."

"You'll survive that. Every man they lose securing the island is one who won't be attacking the walls." He watched as a party attempted to storm the small castle at the western end of the island. It was an anchor point for the western chain. With its high walls and its small, heavily defended entrance, its tiny garrison could probably hold out for weeks even should the rest of the island be taken. That was the theory, at any rate. He knew better than to trust theories too far.

A messenger came running up to Selene. "Something strange is happening at the south wall, my queen," the man said.

She looked at Marcus. "The south wall? I thought it was invulnerable to attack."

"Nevertheless, we had better take a look," Marcus said. What now? Surely Hamilcar lacked the imagination to come up with some sort of innovation. When they reached the southwestern corner of the wall and looked over, he understood.

"It looks like some sort of shed they're building," said the captain of the corner tower. "They started erecting it just as the battle started."

On the narrow strip of soft ground between the southern wall and the lake, a long gallery of timber with a lead-sheathed roof was slowly growing, getting longer, like some strange animal. Marcus knew what it was. They had been used to encircle and reduce especially stubborn oppidiums and hill-forts. Its unique feature, one that had the defenders goggling in superstitious awe, was that the thing was built from the inside, as its members, already cut and notched, were passed down its length to be raised into place and fastened securely, by skilled men who did this work quickly and without exposing themselves.

"This could mean trouble," Marcus said.

"Trouble?" said Selene. "It's strange, but no stranger than our underwater boat and our bronze-clad ships. It's just a long shed, after all."

"Yes, but this is being built by Romans. When it's finished, it will control the lakefront. Alexandria will be cut off from the Nile and the interior. They'll use it as a base from which to mount attacks against the wall and the Mareotis gate."

"Can't the new catapults smash it?" she asked, alarmed that the supremely self-assured Roman was showing doubt. "They hurl missiles heavy enough to smash that shed to kindling wood."

"That would be ideal, but it's too close. Their stones would just fall in the lake. We'll have to move some of the conventional catapults over onto this wall. They'll damage it, at least." Already, arrows were coming from loops in the low wall and the lead-sheathed roof of the siege shed. Could Norbanus have come up with this idea? If so, he'd been underestimating the man. He was certain that the Roman he'd seen leading the scouting party and this morning atop Hamilcar's viewing-tower was indeed Titus Norbanus. The last word he'd received from Rome (strange, he thought, to know that it was the real Rome this time) had said that Norbanus, whose father was now consul, had been given provisional proconsular status to command the Roman forces in Africa.

"I thought they'd have sense enough to replace that bastard," he muttered.

"Who would have the sense to replace whom?" Selene asked.

"Just talking to myself. I'm afraid my old friend Norbanus has just handed us a surprise." Even as he watched, he had to admire both the skill of his countrymen and the excellent tactical thinking of his rival, if indeed this was Norbanus's idea. He was taking control of the southern side of the city just as he had controlled the right wing in the earlier battle and won a victory thereby. And in both instances, accomplishing his goals with an absolute minimum of casualties among the Roman forces.

Selene studied the odd structure. Just in the time they had been watching, it had grown another fifteen feet. The side facing them and the roof extended as if by magic, like some living thing. "How will they use it?" she asked.

"They can assemble men inside it and we won't know how many or where they're concentrated. It can be opened up at any point and men can pour out to attack a weak spot on the wall. And they can use it to mask mining operations. Anywhere along its length, they can sink a shaft, then bore a gallery right under the walls, undermine them or pop up inside the city some night when nobody is expecting them."

"If they try that, they'll drown," she said confidently. "Here, if you dig down just a few feet, you hit water. The walls of Alexandria are sunk all the way down to bedrock."

"I hope you're right," Marcus said, "but Roman engineers are nothing if not ingenious. They may well think of something. Cutting you off from the river and the interior may be the point anyway."

"We're not cut off," she insisted. "The whole eastern plain is wide open, not a single Carthaginian soldier watching it."

"That's a trap," he told her. "They've left it open to tempt you to run. And it's being watched, but from the sea. If it should look necessary, they'll land there in force."

"So what shall we do?" she asked.

"First, let's get some of the catapults moved over here." But he knew they would have little effect. It would be nightfall before the catapults could be in position. And at night, the Romans would emerge to heap earth against the sides of the shed. They would absorb the catapult missiles and most of the rest would merely glance off the metal-sheathed roof.

He turned to study the new catapults, the gigantic staff-slings that had already wrought such devastation among the Carthaginians. Again he was amazed at the simplicity of their design, so simple that it seemed incredible that no one had thought of it before. The heavy timber base was merely the support for a giant pin on which the sling-arm pivoted. From the short end of the arm hung a great box on another pivot. This box contained tons of rock for a weight. Oxen drew the arm back until it almost touched the ground, where it was held in place by a bronze bar connected to a trigger. A sling almost as long as the arm itself was stretched beneath it and a specially cut stone placed in its pouch. One end of the sling was attached to the upper end of the arm, the other terminated in a ring that was slipped over a shallow hook at the upper terminal of the arm. When the trigger was tripped with a sledgehammer, the box dropped just a few feet but the arm was whipped upward with unbelievable force. The sling then swung up and the ring slipped off the hook and the stone flew just like a missile from a common sling, only a thousand times as heavy.

The only problem with the wonderful device, Marcus thought sourly, was that it couldn't hit anything closer than a hundred paces. And it was dreadfully slow to reload: capable of delivering only about four missiles per hour. The speed might be improved with intensive drill, but oxen could not be speeded up. And if the siege should prove to be lengthy, the oxen would be eaten and they would have to use men for the labor.

As he mused, it struck him how strange this was: advising a foreign queen on how best to defeat his fellow Romans. Not that she or anyone else had a prayer of doing that. Even moving all those catapults to the southern wall would probably produce few if any Roman casualties. Nonetheless, it felt strange.

In the gallery, the chief engineer, Mucius Mus, was urging his men to ever-greater speed. Legionaries, auxilia and slaves mingled indifferently, busy as ants as they passed the timbers and lead sheets and pins of wood or iron from hand to hand and the team of artisans fitted them together with wonderful skill.

"Hurry up with those timbers!" Mucius shouted. "Do you think we've all the buggering livelong day to finish this? I've seen half-tamed Gauls work harder than this and Gauls hate work! Do you want those buggering Alexandrians to think you're a bunch of buggering Greeks!" In truth he was well pleased with the men and their work, but his many long years as a centurion forbade his saying so. Customarily, soldiers only received praise from their general and then only after the battle was won.

Cato and Niger came down the shoreline behind the shed. Since only the north side of the shed would receive fire, the south wall was left open for the sake of light and ventilation, and to conserve material.

"When will it be finished?" Niger asked Mucius.

"If we can maintain this pace, I can have it extended all the way to the southeastern corner of the city wall by tomorrow morning," Mucius reported. "That is, if they allow us to keep up the pace. There could still be trouble. Matter of fact, if there's going to be trouble, we're going to see it soon. Look." He pointed to what was just beyond the end of the shed: Here the soft ground stopped and the pavement began. It was the city's river port. Its docks were deserted. The merchant vessels were headed for the Nile and even the fishing craft had withdrawn to the lake's southern shore.

"You see that big arch there?" Mucius went on. "That's the canal that connects the lake with the Eunostos Harbor. If I was the man in charge of defense, I'd send a warship or two out here to block us, maybe a sally of infantry to catch us while we're still at work and burn the gallery."

"If it happens, it won't be Parmenion that thought of it," Cato said. "Look up there." The others looked up through the archer's loop he indicated. They could see a man in Ro-man armor talking to a woman.

"Is that Scipio?" Niger said. "If it is, the woman must be Selene, the queen. Leave it to a Scipio not only to get himself appointed defender of Alexandria, but to bag himself a queen to warm his bed."

"I don't care what his job is or who he sticks it to," Mucius told them, "but if he gets just one of my men killed, I'll have him up before the Centuriate Assembly on charges of high treason."

Cato frowned. "I don't know what he's up to, but no Cornelian ever betrayed Rome."

Niger turned to Cato. "Send down a cohort of heavy infantry auxilia and another of skirmishers and all your archers. They can stand down here behind the gallery and be ready to take care of whatever comes through the arch."

Mucius scratched his chin. "That'll help. You know, to send ships out they'll have to raise the gate. If we're fast, we could get some men inside and keep it open. Get just one legion inside and we could take the city."

Niger and Cato looked at one another. "Only if Titus Norbanus orders it," Cato said. "We're not here to hand Alexandria to Hamilcar at the cost of Roman blood. And there'll be blood, never doubt it. A fight through the streets, with the enemy on the walls and the rooftops-we'd be giving away our biggest advantage by splitting up into a hundred units to take the city one street and one block at a time."

"Not to mention," Niger said, "giving Titus Norbanus eternal glory as the man who conquered Alexandria. He's not my patron that I owe him such favors. The man's never even held the office of praetor and here they've given him proconsular imperium. Let's just invest this south wall as we've been ordered and leave it at that."

"Suit yourselves," Mucius said, "but get those cohorts down here quick." When they were gone, he returned to tongue-lashing his men. Buggering senators, he thought. Always playing their buggering politics with my boys' lives.

The cohorts arrived in short order. The heavy infantry were mostly Germans from settlements now earning their citizenship: sons of wild tribesmen defeated by Noricum and sent to colonize the Gallic territory around Lake Lemannus. They were equipped much like the legionaries except for their flat, oval shields and their handheld spears that they wielded at close quarters instead of throwing them like pila. They were ideal for this job, Mucius thought.

The skirmishers were young Gauls who wore short, sleeveless shirts of mail and skullcap helmets and bore small, round shields. They were armed with short swords and javelins.

The archers were mostly Suebi, a Germanic tribe that favored the bow. Theirs were man-height and shot arrows a yard long, tipped with small, barbed points and fletched with goose feathers. The Suebi wore no armor, and no helmets covered their long hair, which they wore on the left side of the head in an elaborate knot. Their only other weapons were knotty-headed clubs.

Early in the afternoon the trouble Mucius had predicted arrived. Even above the din of hammering and the roars of battle from the west, he could hear the clank and rattle of a massive bronze grate being raised.

"They're coming!" he shouted. "Get your men ready!"

The officer in charge of the auxilia was a young man of the Caecilian clan. This was his first command of soldiers and he was eager. "On your feet!" he shouted. "Half of the heavies to the open end of the gallery with your shields up! I don't want these Greeks to bag so much as a single slave. Skirmishers, prepare to follow me. Archers, I don't need to tell you what to do."

The heavy infantry rounded the end of the gallery and formed a barrier six ranks deep. They held their shields high, for the moment they came around the end of the gallery, they came under a storm of arrows from atop the wall. Within seconds they formed a sort of testudo of overlapping shields to protect both themselves and the men laboring behind them. As each new yard of the gallery was added, they could take a long pace forward to make room for the next.

Amid much shouting from attackers and defenders, a pair of galleys emerged from the arch, side by side. Their decks were crowded with soldiers and these leaped ashore under cover of heavy missile fire from archers and slingers. The skirmishers, with young Caecilius leading, bounded forward to meet them. There were none of the usual slow, methodical Roman advancing tactics. With their small shields they had to get through the missile storm swiftly.

In moments, shield smashed into shield and the Gallic spears and Roman short swords began to take a toll. The Suebi picked off the archers and slingers aboard the ships while others aimed their fire at the walls to make the archers up there keep their heads down. Medical slaves came forward with litters to bring out the wounded.

The attackers fought desperately, for they had nowhere to retreat except back onto their ships. They had reinforcements coming, but these could only arrive slowly and awkwardly by filing from one ship to another, for the tunnel that gave access through the city wall to the lake had no walkway.

When the first fury of the attack was broken, Caecilius disengaged himself from the fight. "The rest of the heavies, come push them back! Archers, use fire arrows!" The skirmishers fell back and the remaining half-cohort of heavy infantry pressed forward, the weight of their arms toppling the attackers, driving them, step by step, back onto the ships. Arrows tipped with flaming tow arched over their heads and struck the wooden ships. Most were extinguished, but there were too many for the crews to fight effectively.

With a creaking of ropes, the burning galleys were towed back within the tunnel. The bronze grate came grinding down, narrowly missing the bow of one of the galleys. Fully half the sortie lay dead upon the ground and the Roman force set up a raucous, jeering cheer.

Throughout the fight, the gallery continued to grow.

Titus Norbanus saw none of the fighting at the southern wall, but messengers brought him periodic reports. In the meantime, there was more than enough to see from his vantage point atop the battle tower. Assault after assault against the western wall was repelled with terrible losses. This was only to be expected. The situation was somewhat better on the Pharos.

By midday Hamilcar was looking sour. He had not gained the swift victory for which he had so unrealistically hoped. It was clear that Alexandria would not fall this day, nor for many more days to come. He was contemplating the crucifixion of a few laggard officers in order to encourage the rest, when a distant cheer drew his attention. His banner hung waving from atop the great lighthouse. Hamilcar leaped to his feet in his excitement.

"The Pharos is mine!" He turned to Norbanus. "Did you know that the Pharos lighthouse of Alexandria was named one of the Seven Wonders of the World by Antipater of Sidon? The Great Pyramids are another, and soon they shall be mine, too."

"My congratulations, Shofet," Norbanus murmured. "With two in your possession, can the other five be far behind?"

Hamilcar glanced at him sharply. Had he detected a sardonic note in the Roman's words? It was difficult to tell when the two of them were conversing in a language that was native to neither.

"This is enough for today," Hamilcar said. "I will call the main assault force back. Tonight we will bring up the heavy siege equipment under cover of night and resume in the morning."

Norbanus wondered if Hamilcar even remembered that this had been his own recommendation. "Very wise, Shofet."

"And now I want to see what wonder you have worked at the southern wall."

"I think you will find it pleasing."

Indeed, Hamilcar was more than pleased. "This is wonderful," he said, studying the ever-growing gallery. It was already well beyond the river port and on its way to the southeastern corner of the city wall. "So this was why you requisitioned all that timber and lead back at Carthage. Making use of that city model of yours, no doubt."

"It is our custom to be prepared for all contingencies," Norbanus informed him. "It goes against our sense of fitness to allow an enemy control of such a resource as this lake, when it lies within our power to seize it for ourselves."

Hamilcar nodded. "I see. Let me tell you about my own sense of fitness. Now that I have three sides of the city in my power, it offends me to leave the fourth unguarded. I shall send a landing force ashore to the east of the city and seal it off from the world."

"This is, indeed, the Shofet's decision to make," Norbanus said.

"If Alexandria refuses to fall to assault, then she can fall to starvation or pestilence. With her fleet bottled up in the harbor and her major forces reduced to throwing rocks at me from the walls, I can afford to detach a large part of my army to go southward down the Nile and secure the larger cities. They are very rich cities, Roman. Perhaps you shall have a part in this new phase of the campaign."

Norbanus bowed. "I am, of course, at the Shofet's service.”

On the tenth day of the siege, Selene came to Marcus’s quarters. She was accompanied only by a maidservant and she left the girl in an anteroom. She found Marcus in the courtyard, drafting one of his inevitable missives to the Senate.

"How do you intend to get a message through?" she asked him. "The city is surrounded."

"Not very expertly," he said. "I've cultivated a few well-traveled and adventurous young men here, men who will take a great risk for a great reward."

"How long is this going to last?"

"The siege? It could go on for months, but I don't think it will."

"Why not? My brother's advisers are all but whipped. They talk boastfully of how difficult Alexandria is to take, meaning that they have no intention of carrying the war to Hamilcar. They're defeated. Are you aware that the Roman legions have left?"

"Of course. They pulled out last night, marching along the southern shore of the lake. I suspect that they are headed south down the river. There is nothing to stop them except sheer distance. They can take every city down to the First Cataract if they feel like it. Personally, I doubt they'll want to do Hamilcar that big a favor."

As always, his calm confidence both infuriated and bewildered her. "Why do you think the siege will be over soon? Because we will be defeated?"

"No," he said. "I think that Hamilcar will get some very bad news soon, news that will force him to break off the siege and the war."

"What? What news could do that?"

"Let me keep that to myself for the moment. Rest assured that it will happen. One morning soon we shall look out over the western wall and see nothing but the remains of Hamilcar's camp and nothing but a plume of dust in the air to show us where they've all gone."

She considered this, weighing many factors in her mind: matters of politics and greed and ambition. "If that is true," she said, "then we must deal with my brother and his advisers first. Otherwise, the moment Hamilcar leaves, we are both dead. If we strike now, we are safe. Parmenion and the eunuchs are in disgrace and no one will mourn their passing. We can't let them convince people that they've won some sort of victory."

Marcus smiled. "Spoken like a true Ptolemy."

"How else would I talk," she said. "I am a Ptolemy."

"The only one worthy of the name," Marcus told her. "You must hide. Go to the temple of Serapis. He's the patron deity of the city and a great mob of the citizenry are camped out on the temple grounds. The citizens love you and they will protect you there. Go now. I have to consult with Chilo. He's figured out a way to use the big new catapults against that gallery on the southern wall. Now that it's not full of Romans, I won't mind destroying it."

"Will you take your mind off fighting for one minute!" she cried, her patience ended. "We must consider the future!"

"The future?" he said, nonplussed.

"Exactly. If we live, I will be Queen of Egypt. Queen in my own right, not through marriage to my brother. I must have a consort."

"Certainly. But he will have to be someone whose birth is commensurate with your own. I am sure there are many kings and princes-"

She hissed and closed her eyes. "You've never met any of the disgusting, degenerate creatures who call themselves kings in the eastern lands, have you?"

"I confess that I haven't. Surely there is someone suitable."

"No. I don't want some pedigreed imbecile to share my bed. He must be a man. So far, I have met only one who meets the definition. You."

For a moment words failed him. "You can't be serious. I am as well born as any Roman, but we have no royalty. I'm not even a very important Roman."

"Spare me your humility! You've manipulated Hamilcar, Ptolemy, me and the whole city of Alexandria ever since you left Noricum! Forget about breeding, you are a man who can do things! Do you think the first Ptolemy was born a king? He was just a soldier who was in the right place at the right time. You are a man of the moment, and I want you for my husband when this is over."

"You want me to be King of Egypt?" he said, sounding unsettled for the first time since she had known him.

She stepped close and wound her arms around his neck. "Not king exactly. Consort. It's still a very desirable position." She drew his face down to hers.

For the first time in many months something entirely personal pushed aside his discipline and devotion to duty. He wondered whether he was being utterly foolish, then he discovered that he didn't care. He swept her up in his arms. The sun would come up tomorrow no matter what the two of them did here tonight. Let tomorrow take care of itself.