The Seven Hills

CHAPTER TEN

Norbanus hadn't anticipated the effects of dust. The shuffling feet of thousands of men, the churning hooves of thousands of horses raised a pall of dust so thick that he had trouble observing the course of the battle. He thought of the lessons drilled into him in military school: the handling of troops; the hazards of illness, unfavorable terrain, mud, cold-all of them potentially as devastating as a well-led enemy of superior numbers. Even plain bad luck had been taken into account. Somehow, though, the lessons had never mentioned dust.

"Maybe I was out with a fever the day they covered that," he mused.

"Eh?" King Jonathan said. "Covered what?" His face was drawn and concerned. His future, his very life were the issues being contested on the field before them.

"Dust. I don't recall that our instructors ever mentioned it."

"You don't have dust where you come from?" Jonathan said, astonished.

"I suppose it rains too much."

The two stood atop Norbanus's command tower, overseeing the combat. The battle had been joined about an hour earlier, beginning with an exchange of arrows, javelins and sling-stones. These preliminaries had caused casualties only among the light-armed native troops. Roman shields and armor were proof against all such trifles.

They had found Manasseh and his army toward the southern edge of the plain called Megiddo: a natural battlefield where countless engagements had been fought. Besides the Jews, it had seen the armies of Egypt, the Hittites, Persians and Greeks clash and fall. Manasseh's army was larger, but it held no Romans. Most important, his Parthian allies had not arrived yet. When he deemed the time propitious, Norbanus had committed his legions, and the cohorts strode forth to hurl their murderous pila and draw their short, razor-edged swords. The cavalry of both sides were quickly engaged on the flanks and the dust rose.

"How can we control an army we can't see?" Jonathan asked plaintively.

"We can't. In a fight like this, the general's task is done in making his dispositions and giving his commands. Now it is a soldier's battle. The junior officers and the centurions will handle their own individual parts of the fight. This is where Roman training and drill pay off. Our legionaries can win a battle with all their commanders dead."

"I see," Jonathan said without conviction.

From the cloud before them, above the sounds of clashing metal and wood and the meaty smack of weapons against unprotected flesh, they could hear the blare and snarl of Roman trumpets. Unable to see, Norbanus could follow the progress of the fight as officers closer to the action directed their trumpeters, calling some cohorts back, sending others forward, closing up lines or putting them in extended order to take advantage of momentary weaknesses in the enemy formations.

"That's a bit risky," Norbanus noted.

"What?"

"Niger just wheeled his second cohort to catch the left flanking corner of Manasseh's formation. He must see an opportunity there. I hope he knows what he's doing. It wasn't in the battle plan."

"You can tell all that from the tooting of a trumpet?"

"It's as plain as speech once your ear is accustomed to it."

"You allow your subordinates such license?"

"Of course. Rigid adherence to a battle plan in spite of changing conditions is folly. He may have won the battle for us, in which case I'll decorate him. If it's a blunder, I'll have his hide for a shield cover."

Jonathan sweated. "This is maddening. We can do nothing, know nothing."

"We still have them," Norbanus said, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder. Behind the command tower an entire legion sat on the ground, resting, ready for battle at an instant's-notice.

"Why do you keep so many out of the fight when we are outnumbered to begin with?"

Norbanus hid his impatience. He hated dealing with amateurs. "They are my reserve. At any given time, only the front-line soldiers do any actual fighting. To commit everyone at once merely tires them out without accomplishing anything. They might as well stay to the rear and husband their strength. Should I see an opportunity or a great danger, I have them ready to meet the situation without having to disengage them from the battle first. It's the best way."

"Of course," Jonathan muttered. "It is just-Manasseh has so many men."

"And they are all out there, most of them able to do nothing except wave their arms and shout. They are getting very tired, I assure you." He was not as sanguine as he pretended. It was indeed wearing on the nerves to hear a battle without being able to see it clearly. He took great comfort from the presence of that legion behind him. Should the situation prove disastrous, they would extricate him and the bulk of his Romans from the fight.

He was not pessimistic, but anything could happen. He knew the story of Xenophon, who had been in a situation very much like this. His Greeks had won their part of the battle, but their Persian ally lost his part and the Greeks were forced to make their epic march to the sea. Norbanus's confidence in his legions was absolute. His confidence in Jonathan's forces was slight.

And, he thought, where were the Parthians? They could appear at any time, and there were few more disastrous occurrences than the sudden advent of enemy reinforcements after Roman forces were already committed to battle. But then, he thought further, the whole Manasseh-Parthian alliance might be nothing more than a rumor.

He shook these unproductive thoughts from his head and returned his attention to the battle before him, or as much as he could see of it. He cursed the dust once again.

Gabinius relaxed in the courtyard of his ancestral home, enjoying the cool of the evening. The house was new, but it felt right. He was where he should be. He heard a small commotion from the atrium. A visitor, no doubt. A man of his importance received guests at all hours: clients in need of a favor, friends from other towns come to claim hospitality. His steward entered the courtyard.

"Princeps, a lictor has come to summon you to the curia."

"Good news or bad?"

"He would say no more than that you are summoned."

Gabinius rose. "Lictors. How they love their little secrets." He knew that it had to be something momentous for a Senate meeting to be called after sunset. Even the news of the disastrous fire in the harbor at Carthage had waited until morning. It had been by no means a decisive blow to Hamilcar, but it bought the Romans time, and time was what they needed. They were conquering too much, too fast. How long will the gods bless us in this fashion? he wondered.

His fellow senators milled on the curia steps, some of them looking a bit tipsy from their after-dinner drinking. At the summons of another lictor, they filed inside. The nearby forum began to fill as word spread of the extraordinary meeting.

Inside, they took their benches. The consuls were already in place. When the doors shut, the Consul Scipio stood and raised over his head a broad wooden tablet of traditional design, the letters SPQR blazoned on it in large, gilt letters. A laurel wreath encircled the tablet. A hiss of satisfaction went up from the assembly. Laureled dispatches meant victory.

"Syracuse has fallen!" Scipio announced, producing a general uproar. "Sicily is ours!"

When the cacophony died down, Scipio read the terse message. "The Proconsul Titus Scaeva sends greetings to the noble Senate. On this day, the nineteenth of Quinctilis, the city of Syracuse passed into the possession of Rome. About the middle of the second hour the undermining operations I had pursued bore fruit and a large section of the northern city wall collapsed. I immediately ordered my legions into the breach. The Carthaginians and their citizen allies fought with desperation, but they were lost when they had to face Roman soldiers at close quarters. The fighting was street-by-street and ended in the square surrounding the great temple of Zeus. Resistance ended by the seventh hour, and the inhabitants were put to the sword to let all foreigners know the price of resistance to Rome. At sundown I signaled a halt to the slaughter. In coming days I will render the noble Senate an accounting of the plunder of this very rich city. Death to Carthage. Long live Rome."

The Consul Norbanus stood. "I propose, pending a full report from both the Proconsul Scaeva and the Senate's observers in Sicily, that Titus Scaeva be voted the right to celebrate a triumph. I further propose that he be awarded the title 'Siculus' in honor of his conquest of Sicily."

Amid further cheering Gabinius made his way to the consuls' dais. Norbanus noticed him first. "I see from the princeps's sour look that even this wonderful news fails to elate him."

"Oh, I am quite elated," Gabinius assured him. "I'd always rather hear of victory than defeat. But has anyone given thought to what we are going to do with Sicily?"

"Do?" Norbanus said. "We are going to divide it up, naturally. That's what you do with conquered territory."

"And who's to get it, eh?" Gabinius asked. "You've read Cyclops's reports: The land is unbelievably rich and fertile, better than Campania. Are we to have the whole Senate at each other's throat over who gets what piece of this prize?"

"There is danger there," said the Consul Scipio. "What are your thoughts, Princeps?"

"Right now we are all a bit drunk with success and with favorable omens. A good drunk is always followed by a bad hangover. Even if we are fully successful in every campaign we undertake, there may be serious consequences. Foreigners are not the only enemy. We've expanded our legions to unprecedented numbers. What will we do with them when Carthage is destroyed and the fighting is over? Has anyone considered that?"

"They will go back home," Norbanus said uneasily.

"They will not," Gabinius assured him. "They came to Italy as farm lads and tribesmen of Noricum. Now they have seen the riches of the civilized world. Before this is over, they will have campaigned not just in Italy and Sicily, but in Africa, Egypt, Syria and the whole East. A common trooper will win more loot in a day than his father and grandfather saw in their lifetimes of toil.

"And these wars," he went on pitilessly, "will not be over soon. These early victories have come easily because nobody expected our arrival and they underestimated our strength. That will not last. Soon there will be alliances against us. Already we are looking at danger from Spain. Young Norbanus is stirring up a hornet's nest in Judea. Macedonia is watching us with alarm. We'll never be safe until we've conquered all the lands that border the sea, and that will be the work of many years. We are raising a generation of men who have no trade save war. In time they will be a great danger to the state."

"I take it you have some sort of suggestion," Norbanus grumbled.

"Exactly. Senatorial families already claimed most of Italy and there has been no little strife over conflicting claims. The new lands we are taking have no ancestral claims on them. Let's set aside some of them right now as reward for the soldiers when they are demobilized. Otherwise, the soldiers will not want to leave the profession of arms, since it will be their only source of livelihood. But with the prospects of rich farms and slaves to work their land, they'll be eager to trade the rigors of continuous campaigning for the life of gentlemen planters."

"That won't be easy," Scipio said. "Look at them." He gestured to the ebullient house. "Some of them are already in ecstasies of greed at the prospect of these Sicilian lands. They won't want to see them pass into the hands of common soldiers." He rapped his knuckles on the armrest of his curule chair. "I'll speak with the tribunes of the people. They can start groundwork for passing a new agrarian law. Maybe at first it will be best to declare the new conquests public land to keep it out of the hands of the major aristocrats. Later they can agitate for its distribution to veterans."

"That will do for a start," Gabinius said.

"You enjoy croaking of doom in the midst of celebration, don't you?" Norbaniis said.

Gabinius gave them a lipless smile. "Ironic, isn't it? All this success may yet prove to be the ruin of us."

The huge legionary camp stood upon the plain of Megiddo, site of the recent battle. It was greatly expanded, for the Romans had acquired many horses and no small accumulation of loot. Near the Romans, King Jonathan's men were encamped in less orderly fashion. They had the task of guarding the prisoners.

Near the center of the Roman camp stood the praetorium. It had been the royal tent of the late King Manasseh, but Norbanus had appropriated it for his own use. Far more sumptuous than his previous campaigning tent, it had room for the twin princesses who had become a part of his following. For three successive nights since the battle, it had been the scene of a victory banquet.

Manasseh had been defeated rather handily, the Roman discipline and superiority of small unit commanders being crucial in conditions that discouraged close overall command. After long and brave resistance, Manasseh's men had finally cracked, dismayed by the iron fortitude of the Romans. Once their lines lost cohesion and men began to break away and run in panic, the slaughter was fearful. Those not caught by the legionaries or the light-armed pursuers were ridden down and lanced by Jonathan's, cavalry.

Manasseh was killed trying to rally his soldiers, and with their king dead, his whole cavalry force had surrendered en masse and pledged themselves to Jonathan, before the Romans could reach them. As these were all wellborn young men, Jonathan had accepted their oath and put them under his protection, unlike the common foot soldiers of Manasseh's army, who died in droves.

At the first night's banquet, the king of the newly united kingdom of Judea and Israel had been ebullient, flushed with success. The general hilarity and good fellowship was only marred when Norbanus had Manasseh's head delivered to him on a platter between courses. This violated some rule of local decorum, and Jonathan had insisted that his defeated rival be buried with the proper rites. He explained that he could incur divine displeasure by neglecting this duty. Norbanus complied cheerfully. It cost him nothing. Manasseh's was. not the head he longed to see on a platter before him.

The second night, the king had been cheerful. Now, on the third night of banqueting, he was thoughtful, even apprehensive.

"Titus, my friend," he said, "I am sole king now, and for this I shall always be grateful for your invaluable assistance. However, it is time that I see to the ordering of my country."

"And so you shall," Norbanus assured him. "I think what is in order first is a progress through your newly acquired northern province of Israel. Your people must see you and grow used to the idea that you are now their sole king. Since we must march northward as well, it is fitting that you accompany us, so that anyone of a seditious disposition can see just what they face should they ever have subversive thoughts."

"And this way we can make a proper leave-taking when we pass from your kingdom," said Lentulus Niger.

Jonathan forced a smile. "Excellent." He understood now For all practical purposes he was a prisoner until the Romans marched away, an event he was beginning to anticipate with some pleasure. What suspicious people, he thought. They were not at all the unsophisticated brutes he had thought them at first.

"Cheer up," Cato said, grinning. "You are a Friend and Ally of Rome now. From now on, you and your descendants can petition the Senate for assistance anytime you are threatened by enemies. And Rome will come to your aid, every time. We are the best allies in the world. We never leave a friend in the lurch."

"I shall prize the friendship of Rome always." He knew that this was true. As long as he stayed faithful to Rome, he would have those incredible legions at his call. He realized something else: He had surrendered control of his own foreign policy. From now on, his policy had to be in accord with Rome's. This was the bargain he had made to become sole king.

Two days later they were traveling north when the Parthians arrived.

The legions, accompanied by their allies and a horde of camp followers, moved briskly along the road that led to the Syrian border. At least, the Romans marched at their usual pace. Many of the legionaries were now mounted, but they restrained their horses to the speed of the footmen. The allies hurried to keep up and the camp followers straggled along for miles.

They did not at first see the approaching Parthians. What they saw instead was an immense column of dust ascending skyward miles before them. Norbanus called a halt and summoned his commanders. Together with Jonathan and his principal officers they studied the alarming prodigy.

"How many horses does it take to raise such a cloud?" Lentulus Niger wanted to know.

"It isn't the number of horses," said Lemuel, commander of Jonathan's cavalry. "It's how they are ridden. There are at least as many horsemen over there as we have here, but they are not ambling along. They are coming at a fast canter. They will be here soon."

"Signal battle formation," Norbanus said. "In close order, then sound 'prepare to receive cavalry.' Be ready to order a testudo. These Parthians are said to favor the bow:"

"What about all these horses?" Cato asked.

"We can't use them effectively yet. Take them all to the rear, except for the cavalry. Jonathan, I want your horsemen on our flanks. You stay close by me. They may ask for parley and you are king here."

Jonathan nodded. "They approach boldly. Are they eager for battle, or just anxious to meet up with Manasseh's army before battle is joined?" The Parthians could not know of the disaster Manasseh had met. Jonathan's riders had pursued and killed every horseman who tried to escape the debacle.

"They shall find a situation very different from that which they anticipated," Norbanus said. "I think they will wish to consider their options before committing themselves to action." Behind them the trumpets sounded and the legions went from marching order to battle formation with their usual efficiency.

An hour later the dust cloud was very near, and they began to see the glitter of metal in the dimness. The lead elements appeared: a great double file that wheeled right and left as the Parthians came in sight of the legions. Other formations behind them split likewise, and the dust began to settle as the horses slowed to a trot.

"Watch how far they extend their line," Jonathan cautioned. "If they form a great mass in front of us, they will want to talk. If they keep extending around our flanks, they are going for a surround and we can expect arrows momentarily."

Norbanus nodded, approving of both Jonathan's advice and his calm. He was not nervous, as at the earlier battle. He had confidence in his new allies. For his own part, Norbanus had little apprehension. Romans did not fear arrows, and cavalry could not break disciplined infantry. Still, he was ready for anything. These Parthians were something new, and they might know tricks and stratagems the Romans had never encountered.

Some of the horsemen before them were heavily armored and carried long lances, but most were archers, with light armor or none at all. All rode like men born on horseback. Only the very best Roman riders looked so natural in the saddle. In short order, the Parthians formed a mass perhaps five hundred yards in length, many lines deep. A small group rode forward, halting halfway between the two armies.

"It's talk," Norbanus said. "Are they likely to attempt treachery?"

Jonathan answered. "Everything I've heard of them says the Parthians are most punctilious and honorable in these matters."

"Then we talk," Norbanus said. "Now, how shall we go about this? A king should not ride out to parley unless there is a king leading those men."

"I doubt the king himself came to support Manasseh," said Jonathan, "but the leader will be a close relative. If you ride out without me, they will try to outmatch you in arrogance. Not, I admit, that that is very easy to do. If I go, my condescension will give us an edge in negotiations."

"Royal punctilio is your realm of expertise," Norbanus said. "Let's go."

With Jonathan in the lead, Norbanus riding to his right and half a horse length to his rear, a few senior officers behind them, the party rode out to confer with the strangers. Oozing confidence, Jonathan drew up within easy conversation distance of the Parthian spokesmen.

To the Romans, these riders were truly alien, far more so than the Jews, who had been exposed to Greek influence for many centuries. They wore long trousers and long-sleeved jackets stitched with colorful designs in gold thread. They were long-haired and bearded, their heads covered by tall caps with long lappets hanging before their ears. Each man wore a cased bow and arrows at his belt, and some of them wore a strange sort of armor made of small metal splints tightly laced in rows and lacquered in vivid colors. Most astonishingly, they wore facial cosmetics, with rouged cheeks and lips, and the eyebrows darkened with kohl, drawn to a point above the nose and extended into long wings at the sides. The Romans would have laughed at such a display, but the ferocity of the faces opposite removed any hint of effeminacy.

Jonathan spoke first. "I am Jonathan ben Isaac, king of all the Jews. I demand to know what brings the soldiers of King Phraates within my borders."

One of the Parthians guided his horse a few steps forward. He looked much the same as the others but his light armor was gilded. "I am Surenas, royal cousin of King Phraates. We are here at the invitation of our friend, King Manasseh. Where may we find him?" His Greek was heavily accented but clear. While he spoke, his eyes were fixed upon the Roman party, and the legions standing a bowshot beyond.

"Alas, my brother is no more, and his rebellious province is once more returned to its rightful sovereign. I take very seriously this unwarranted incursion into my kingdom." The Parthians bristled but held their tongues for the moment. Jonathan relaxed his provocative tone a few notches. "However, since you came here under the mistaken belief that you had the invitation of a sovereign, I shall not regard this as an invasion, so long as you refrain from all belligerent acts henceforth."

Surenas nodded. "I can see that things have changed here. My king must hear of the new order of things." He made a gesture of his hand, and the army behind him, until that moment tense and poised for battle, became a great crowd of relaxing horsemen. Many men dismounted and began to curry their mounts, examine hooves and dig rations from there saddlebags.

Norbanus found this an excellent show, one calculated to give an impression of safety. He also noticed that not a single man unstrung his bow. These men could be in the saddle, charging and shooting in moments. Those bows bothered him. They were great, multiple-curved weapons and looked far more powerful than any bows he had ever seen.

"I see that something else has changed," Surenas went on, still eyeing the Romans. "Who are these men whose soldierly bearing is so formidable? I can see how you value them as allies, since they hold the center of your battle line."

"These are the soldiers of my new ally, Rome."

The accented eyebrows rose fractionally. "Rome? I have never heard of this place."

"I assure you, you will be hearing a great deal more of us. I am the Proconsul Titus Norbanus, commander of the legions you see before you, envoy of the Senate of the Republic of Rome." He rode a little forward. "My republic wishes only the friendliest relations with the other nations of the world."

"The late King Manasseh seems to have learned differently," Surenas noted.

"The usurper was in rebellion against our ally, King Jonathan. Alliances are a sacred matter to us Romans. We never leave an ally without support."

"Admirable. I shall report all this to King Phraates." He was perplexed, but clearly knew that he was in no position to take action. Then, to Jonathan: "I must confer with my officers. The day advances and we would like to pitch camp here and make our preparations for departure."

Now Jonathan allowed himself to unbend. The foreigners had asked his permission to camp. Hostilities were off, for the moment. "Of course. As long as you offer no violence to my people, you are welcome to my grass, wood and water."

"With King Jonathan's permission," Norbanus said, "I would like to send some of my officers to your camp this evening. Now would be an excellent time for us to make preparations for an exchange of envoys to open diplomatic relations between our nations."

Surenas nodded curtly. "Very well. I am empowered to arrange such negotiations, pending my lord's approval."

Jonathan smiled. He knew these Romans now. Those officers would spy out every detail of the Parthian camp.

The Parthians rode back to their lines and Norbanus turned to Jonathan. "Will there be an exchange of gifts?"

"It's customary. I will give them cloaks and jewelry, that sort of thing. They will probably give me horses, saddles and so forth. Why?"

"See if you can get a few of their bows."

"Why do you want bows?" Jonathan asked.

"I've never seen their like. I want to send them to the Senate for study. It's our usual practice."

The other Roman officers nodded. They had noticed the bows, as well.

That night Norbanus took his ease beneath the awning of his new praetorium. He knew that some of his officers thought the royal tent far too luxurious for a Roman officer, and he did not care. He had been watching his fellow Romans from the time they had departed the austere northlands, and the signs of change were unmistakable.

Before crossing the Alps, Roman soldiers could make Spartans look decadent. Now, after many months in the South, having seen the rich farmlands of Italy, having experienced the incredible luxury of Carthage, the vast wealth of Egypt, they were changing. Troopers and officers often wore gold now. When they eyed a foreign city, they did not just apprehend danger, they assessed its potential in terms of loot.

They hadn't softened, and he would see to it that they didn't, but they had changed. From now on, they would fight not just for the glory and safety of Rome, but for their own enrichment. A man who would command legions henceforth could not depend upon his men's patriotism and discipline to assure their loyalty. He would have to appeal to their greed.

Titus Norbanus foresaw no problem with that.

He smelled the approaching women before he saw them. Their fragrance was wonderful. In the North, he had never understood the allure of perfume. It was what drew bees to flowers, no more. The closest Romans had come to an appreciation of scent was in the form of incense, imported at great cost to burn before the altars of the gods. Even women never anointed their bodies with fragrance. In the South and East, though, perfume was as important as color and jewels and fine food and wine. These people studied the sensual arts as Romans studied those of war. Norbanus had discovered that war would win you those luxuries, and the women and slaves to go with them. It was a simple equation.

"You see?" said Glaphyra or Roxana, he was not sure which. "All is falling into your hands, just as we foretold. The stars are never wrong."

"Do their seeresses ever make mistakes?" he asked, taking a hand and drawing her before him. It was Roxana, but he knew her twin was nearby.

"Not about the stars," she said, smiling as she slid into his lap. Immediately, he felt another pair of hands on his shoulders, another cloud of perfume.

He ran a hard palm up and down Roxana's spine. She arched, bringing her breasts closer to his face. "It would be best that you never make a mistake about me."

She stiffened slightly. "What do you mean, my lord?"

His hand went to the back of her neck and tightened. He grasped one of her sister's wrists and drew that one before him. He slid Roxana off his lap and forced both women to their knees before him. With a slender neck in each hand he drew both faces close to his own. His face was set in the mask of ferocity that was as much a part of a highborn Roman as skill with weapons. Their doelike eyes went wide with terror and an acrid odor drifted from beneath their clothing, overwhelming the perfume. This was a smell he truly savored.

"I mean that you two bitches are now part of my inner circle, closer to me than my soldiers and my officers. You will be with me in intimate moments. Never think that I am vulnerable. Never try to manipulate me or take advantage of me. Never speak a word of what I have said to other people, or of anything you have seen or heard in my company."

"Never, my lord!" both bleated.

"I have a short way with traitors. The princess of Carthage taught me ways to make people suffer that we Romans never dreamed of. Give me reason to suspect you, and your death will not be swift." Through his palms he felt them shudder, felt the thunder of their hearts. In a hard world, Carthage was a byword for extreme cruelty. Torture was an art form in that land, and execution was never swift.

He loosened his grip and let them rise. The point had been made. "Undress," he said. As their clothing fell away layer by layer, their fear receded and their confidence returned. This was an area where they still had power. Naked except for their jewelry, they were as alike as matched pearls.

"Now," he said, "show me some of your Babylonian depravities."

The twins smiled and did as they were bidden.