The Seven Hills

CHAPTER FOUR

The cold of the desert nights came as a surprise to everyone. Roman soldiers were inured to cold after so many years campaigning north of the Alps, but it seemed strange to encounter it here. The sentries stood muffled in their woolen cloaks, and the men not asleep gathered close to fires built with the skimpy brushwood that constituted the only available fuel.

The ground was hard and stony, but each day at the end of their march the legionaries got out their pickaxes and spades, their baskets for moving earth, and they dug their rectangular ditch, heaping the soil into a low rampart that they topped with the long, pointed stakes carried by each man. Only after they had accomplished this did they go within to erect their tents. Each fortified camp was exactly as it would have been on the Rhenus or Danubius or on some other nameless river in the northland. In all probability there was no enemy for many days' march in any direction, but that made no difference. Everywhere a Roman army stopped for the night, it erected just such a camp.

"Here we are," Cato said sourly, "fortified against jackals and foxes, when we could be camped in Sicily." He sat in a folding chair before one of the brushwood fires, a cup of watered date wine in his hand. Their wine was already souring from the heat of the days on the march, but it made the even fouler water drinkable.

"I don't care," said Lentulus Niger. "Sicily will take a year or two. As long as we're in on the finish, when we besiege Carthage, I'll be satisfied. The tale of this march will make our names, even if it doesn't bring us riches."

"You sound like a man trying to convince himself," Cato said.

"What's this?" The voice came from beyond the firelight. "Do I hear grumbling in the ranks?" Norbanus came into the firelight and held his hands out close to the flames.

"This isn't the ranks," Niger said. "It's the praetorium." He and Cato had both plodded their way up the ladder of office. Each had been military tribune, quaestor and aedile, each had put in years on the staff of a higher-ranking man and was ready to stand for the praetorship. It still rankled that Norbanus had what amounted to a proconsular command without having done any of that.

Besides, his was one of the new families, while theirs dated from before the Exile. In fact, their ancestors had been praetors and consuls when his were illiterate savages painting their backsides blue. The only thing that made him tolerable was the deadly enmity between Norbanus and Marcus Scipio, whom they detested even more. Scipio was more aristocratic than either of them and they resented that, too.

Norbanus smiled. He knew how little he was loved and was not at all disturbed by it. The envy of lesser men was a part of greatness. Men like Lentulus Niger and Cato were destined to be used by him and to be sacrificed for his advantage, at necessity. A great man needed supporters and followers. He needed few friends.

"We face only a few more days of this," he told them. "I've just interrogated those locals from the caravan. They say that their people call this place the Wilderness of Zin."

"It's a fitting name," Cato granted. "I couldn't have come up with a better. So where are we?"

"About two days' march west of a town called Kadesh. It's a caravan stop and like all of them has its own spring. We can restore our water there and graze the animals. After that, we swing north."

"Out of this desert?" Niger said hopefully.

He grinned at them. "Any direction we go takes us out of the desert, if we just go far enough."

Their march had taken them through the blighted landscape from oasis to oasis, each of them yielding scarcely enough water and forage to keep the army moving. They had passed by incredibly ancient turquoise mines, watched over by statues of the cow-eared goddess Hathor, who for some reason was the deity of such places. Herders of goats had fled before them, and they had seen few humans other than these herdsmen. The desert was crossed by a network of caravan routes, but these were little traveled and the caravan they had met that afternoon was the first they had seen in several days.

"What's north of Kadesh?" Cato wanted to know.

"Another five or six days of marching should bring us into a cultivated district," Norbanus told them. "Its principle town is called Beersheba. It's a small place, but from there on we will be in civilized country."

"Who runs it?" Niger asked.

Norbanus grinned again. "We do."

Eliyahu the watchman climbed to his post atop the town wall, above the main gate, scratching in his beard, grumbling. He was getting old and his knees protested at the climb, though the mud wall stood barely twenty feet higher than the ground surrounding. He stood on the little platform just beside the gate and gazed out over the peaceful fields beyond. Not that he could see much, for there was a heavy ground mist, as there was many mornings. Just beyond the wall, in the midst of a small pasture; there was a little lake fed by an underground spring, and it was from this that the fog arose.

From below came the patient exhalings of asses and the ill-tempered snorts and groans of camels. These were the beasts of caravan traders waiting for the south gate to open. Eliyahu looked about and saw no sign of robbers. "Open the gate," he said to the boys below. They were his youngest son and a few grandsons, for charge of this gate had been in his family since Moses. Not that there was much to watch for, save for bandits in unsettled times, desert raiders and such.

He was about to sit in his chair and rest his bones when he thought he heard a sound from out there in the mist. It was not a clopping of hooves, but rather a great rustling noise, with many clinkings and scraping sounds. Then he heard a rhythmic tramping. What could this portend?

The mist began to disperse in the morning sun and from it stepped a vision from a nightmare: a hundred men, then a thousand, then many more, all marching in step, all dressed in glinting metal, bearing shields, spears sloped over their shoulders, all marching in perfect lockstep, as if the host were a single animal.

"Close the gate!" Eliyahu said, trying to shout but producing a strangled gasp. Then, more forcefully: "Close the gate!"

"What?" called his son, the slow-witted one.

"Close the gate, then run and bring the headmen! An army marches on Beersheba!"

Stunned, he watched as the host before him began to split up, rectangles of them swerving off to right and left, some to secure the lake, others to occupy the fields where the caravans picketed their beasts. Mounted contingents went right and left as well, riding around the walls out of sight. He guessed that these rode to prevent anyone from escaping town by the north gate. Beersheba was to be surrounded.

He hobbled to the old alarm gong by the gate, used to warn of bandit attack and not heard for many years. He seized the stubby bar and began beating vigorously on the brazen plate. At least it was something to do. Beersheba had perhaps three thousand inhabitants of all ages, and how they could defend the town from such an army he had no idea. They kept materializing from the mist like Pharaoh's army emerging from the Red Sea.

The headmen came running, eyes wide, scrambling up the stair to see what was wrong. They were the town elders, mainly merchants, and a couple of priests. "Eliyahu," gasped Simon, the elder of the council, "what is the meaning of this? If you are drunk I'll have your-"

Wordlessly, the watchman pointed south. The others crowded onto the platform and there was a great silence. "Are they Egyptians?" someone said at last.

"No army comes through the desert," Simon said quietly. "They may be from Arabia. From India, even."

After a while a little knot of men rode forward. Their faces were as fierce as any desert bandit's and their bearing was that of kings. One rode right up to the gate and looked up at them with amazing blue eyes. He wore a splendid cloak and had a helmet in the form of a lion's mask. "Does anyone up there speak Greek?" he asked. One of the priests assented and translated.

"Who are you?" Simon asked.

"We are soldiers of Rome."

"What's Rome?" Simon asked the others, quietly. Nobody knew. Then, to the man below: "What do you want?"

"We've been in the desert for a long time and we want to make use of your town, on your terms or ours."

The soldiers kept arriving in blocks of a hundred or more. The mist was almost gone now and they stretched almost out of sight on the land beyond. They were hard-looking men, burned dark, gaunt and ragged, but with their Weapons and gear in perfect order. They maintained an incredible silence as they went about their evolutions, wheeling and maneuvering to the muffled tones of trumpets.

Simon smiled so broadly that his face looked fair to split. He threw his arms wide, "Welcome, my friends!"

Norbanus and his officers took their ease in the town's bathhouse. Apparently it was devoted to some sort of ritual bathing, but as far as they were concerned it was a bathhouse and they hadn't seen such a thing in a long time. They soaked and sluiced and rubbed down with olive oil and scraped it off with strigils.

"Here is what I've been able to learn," Titus Norbanus said, relaxing in the steaming water. "This country is claimed by the Seleucid ruler of Syria, but their presence is very weak. A family called the Hasmoneans have been in charge as subject-kings, but at the moment two princes are contending for power, one in the South and one in the North. I'm told that this is the usual state of affairs here. The major city is called Jerusalem and it's said to be rich."

An officer snorted. "These people think a man with two cows is rich. I've burned German villages richer than this place. The capital isn't likely to be much."

"That's yet to be seen," Norbanus told them. "Our primary objective is to get back to Italy, not to plunder."

"You're the one who brought up the supposed wealth of this Jerusalem," Cato said.

"If a little gold falls our way," Norbanus said, "so much the better."

Niger and Cato looked at each other. Just moving such an army through someone's country was cause for offense. If Norbanus turned this march into a giant bandit-raid, they would impeach him before the Senate for provoking war without the Senate's approval.

Norbanus caught the look. He knew perfectly well what they were thinking and he knew how to avoid the trap they foresaw. He had brought his army across the desert with a minimum of hardship and few losses, most of those to heat stroke and serpent bites. He had the esteem of the legionaries and was giving them a few days to rest and recuperate. They had confidence in their leader now. They would follow him anywhere.

He sat back and scooped water over his head with the greatest satisfaction. There was a great, rich world ahead of him and he intended to return to Rome having subdued much of it.

"From here," he said, "we march fast."

"Their religion is incomprehensible," Aulus Fimbria said. He was a member of the college of pontifexes and served as augur to the expedition. "But they display great piety in matters of ritual law. In this they are as observant as any people we have ever encountered. They have a great many laws and taboos, which they honor faithfully. Unlike most people, who have many gods and a correct procedure for worshipping each of them, these have a single god but they differ bitterly over how his worship is to be conducted."

"What a peculiar people," Norbanus said. He rode at the head of his legions, but he dismounted from time to time to march along with them so they would not think him soft. They were in cultivated land now, and water was readily available if not exactly abundant. The people here cultivated the arts of irrigation, since rainfall was so infrequent. They were first-class farmers and squeezed fine crops from their acreage. Grapes grew abundantly and they made excellent wine.

Everywhere the Romans went, the people gaped at this unwonted apparition. Some fled, but more came to the camps in the evenings to trade. They brought provisions of all sorts, and the soldiers had plentiful Egyptian coin to pay. Norbanus strictly forbade any mistreatment of the natives. He could not afford ill will at this stage.

"I cannot say that I understand their religious differences," Fimbria went on. "But some seem to think that sacrifices should be carried out one way, others say another. A few like to ape Greek culture and give their god only the most cursory observance. There is a sect that live in all-male communities in the desert and devote their whole lives to ritual. Their god interferes in and regulates the people's lives in ways that civilized gods do not."

Norbanus shrugged. "A man is born with his gods; he doesn't pick them. I suppose this odd deity suits these people. I am more concerned with their political situation, in any case."

They were nearing the major city. It would have been enjoyable, Norbanus thought, to appear before the walls of Jerusalem as a complete surprise, as they had appeared at Beersheba, but this was not to be. They had been spied, and fast-riding horsemen had pounded toward the capital to give warning. Even a Roman army could not outpace a galloping horse. Even so, he was sure that they would arrive before expected. Whoever was in charge would assume that the approaching army would be moving at the pace common to most armies.

He had learned that southern Judea, the district locally called Judah, was under the control of a prince named Jonathan. The northern region, called Israel, was under Jonathan's cousin, named Manasseh. The northern kingdom was larger, its men more numerous and its religious practice more fanatical. The southern was more sophisticated and its king, while militarily weaker, had possession of the holy city.

The Romans had questioned informed men in Beersheba and along their route of march and knew that this north-south split greatly predated the current dynastic dispute. In fact, it dated from before the unification of the country nearly a thousand years earlier, when a king named Saul had forged a nation out of a collection of tribes.

This nation, they were told, had flourished under a succession of brilliant kings, but for barely three generations. Then it had split once more under rival claimants, and that had been the situation for much of the time since. The land had fallen to a succession of conquerors, with Egypt dominating briefly, then Babylon, then Persia. Like everyone else, they had been conquered by Alexander, and then his Seleucid successor had taken over. One of the Seleucids had tried to suppress the local religion and institute the worship of Greek gods, and the whole region had erupted in furious rebellion, led by a family called the Maccabees. The two contending for rule at the moment were descendants of the Maccabees.

"Why so much fighting over this little place?" Lentulus Niger wondered. "It's decent farmland but I've seen better. The natives are sullen and have an outlandish religion. I doubt they'd even make good slaves."

"It must be the location," Cato said. They rode just behind Norbanus, ahead of the standard bearers. "To the east is just more of that desert. They live on this narrow coastal strip. That means that any army that wants to get to Egypt and Libya and northern Africa has to pass through here. Likewise, Egyptian or Carthaginian armies headed for Syria have to pass through here. There's no place else to go, except by sea."

"It must make life interesting here every few years," Niger said.

Late that day they came within sight of the city. Once it would have impressed them, but after the splendors of Carthage and Alexandria, it looked small and shabby. The acropolis pointed out to them as Temple Mount was the only feature that seemed comparable to. the greater cities.

An army was drawn up between them and the city.

"Battle order, Commander?" Niger said.

"I estimate their numbers at less than six thousand," Norbanus said. "This is no more than a gesture-all that the local king could scrape together on short notice." He looked around at the countryside. Most of it was open fields, well cultivated. Like most towns in this part of the world, it owed its location to a reliable and abundant water source. "Find the nearest spring and pitch camp. I'll parley with the locals."

"You're not going to leave the army and put yourself in the hands of foreigners, are you?" Niger said.

"I'm not a fool. I'll take the cavalry with me and halt a good distance from them. Then they can come to me." He gestured to his mounted trumpeter and the man blew a succession of notes on his lituus: a straight horn with its funnel bent back sharply. It was so named for its resemblance to the crook-topped augur's staff, and it was used only by the cavalry. At the signal, the small cavalry force detached from its flanking duties and rode forward to attend the general.

Norbanus looked them over before proceeding. Romans were notoriously poor cavalrymen. These were mostly wellborn young men, mainly of Gallic descent and some of them sons of allied chieftains who lacked Roman citizenship. Their equipment was more ornate than that of the legionaries but resembled it in most details except for their flat, oval shields, their longer swords and the short mail capes reinforcing the shoulders of their armor. They carried lances instead of javelins.

"Dust yourselves off and mount your plumes," Norbanus ordered. "We're going to call on a foreign king."

The men did as ordered, chasing the road grime from their armor and taking the fragile feathers and the horsehair crests from the boxes tied behind their saddles. They were too delicate and valuable for everyday wear and were reserved for parade and battle, where the display was esteemed as intimidating to the enemy. When the commander deemed their glitter to be sufficient, they rode forward, toward the native force before the city.

They halted well out of bowshot and waited. After a few minutes, a small delegation rode out from the army opposite. They were well turned out, their equipment mostly of Greek design, which was fashionable everywhere, it seemed. They reined up a hundred paces away and a man in splendid armor rode forward alone.

"Who are you?" he said in Greek, "and what are your intentions? You trespass outrageously on the domain of King Jonathan of Judea. I demand to speak with your commander." His accent was very different from that of the local people when they spoke Greek. This one spoke like Greek was his native tongue. Norbanus read him for a Greek mercenary. He had encountered many such since arriving in the Mediterranean world.

"I am Proconsul Titus Norbanus of Rome, and I am the commander of the army you see before you. We intend harm to no one here and wish only to pass through this land. However, as Proconsul of Rome, I must deal directly with your king."

"You are commander and you come to parley in person? Most irregular."

"Romans do things differently from most people. Kindly let your king know that I would speak with him. As you see," he waved an arm behind him without looking, "my men are not preparing for battle. They are encamping." The man could not know how incredibly swift the legions were at going from encampment to battle order, and Norbanus had no intention of informing him. Best to lull people into confidence until it was too late.

The man eyed the Roman army. Men had stacked their shields against their spears, hung their helmets from the shafts. They had their spades and pickaxes out and were digging. Some hauled baskets of earth. They looked more like armored farmers than soldiers.

"I will go speak to His Majesty. He may summon you to a conference."

"Roman proconsuls are not summoned by anyone. He can ride out here to speak with me and he will. I will erect a tent on this spot for our meeting."

The mercenary snorted. "A king does not come from his palace to meet with a foreign general."

"Your king will. He'll have heard of Rome by now. He'll be eager to meet with me. Go tell him I await him here."

The Greek rode off. Norbanus sent orders for his praetorium to be brought out and erected. His commanders grumbled that the traditional location for the praetorium was inside the camp, but their general was adamant. They set up the fine tent and before it erected a raised dais and upon it set his curule chair, draped with animal pelts. To either side of the chair were the shrines of his four legions and behind him stood the standard bearers of those legions, their heads and shoulders draped with skins of lion, wolf and bear, the aquilifers holding the four eagles, the signifers of the lesser formations with their animal standards. The approach to the praetorium was flanked on both sides by an honor guard of cavalry, now polished up to their full brilliance.

On the dais to both sides of him stood his senior commanders and the tribunes and legati in charge of the individual legions and the auxilia. There had been objections to this. Many had pointed out that it was folly to separate the entire senior staff from the legions, leaving them vulnerable to treachery by unknown foreigners. Norbanus had asserted that the cavalry would be adequate to extricate them from any situation likely to arise and that he anticipated not hostility, but a proposal of alliance. His subordinates were unconvinced, but they were Romans and they obeyed.

When a mounted party approached from the small host opposite them, all but Norbanus assumed that it was but another officer sent to make arrangements for the king's arrival. In the lead was a man on a splendid white horse and behind him rode a half dozen elders and an honor guard of no more than twenty horsemen in Greek gear, one of them bearing a standard tipped by a six-pointed star.

"How long are they going to keep us waiting?" Cato said. "We are prepared to receive royalty, not some flunky."

"I think this is the king," Norbanus said. "And I must say that I like his style."

"It's effective," Niger said grudgingly. "He can't hope to overawe us with a display of military might, so he rides in looking casual and confident." Others nodded and agreed. Every officer there was not only a military professional but a seasoned politician and veteran of the law courts and the voting enclosures. They had been drilled in the rhetorical arts as rigorously as with the sword, and they appreciated a clever, impressive display.

Head high, as if without a care in the world, the man rode between the guardsmen, who dipped their lances in unison. He nodded graciously to either side in acknowledgment of the salute. Drawing rein before the dais, he dismounted immediately, not waiting for an equerry. A Roman slave stepped forward to take charge of his horse and the man strode to the dais.

His robe was white, girded by a golden sash. His long coat was white as well and he wore soft, red boots with upturned, pointed toes. He was a handsome man of about thirty years, with aquiline features. His hair was cut in the fashionable Greek style but his short beard was dressed in small, tight ringlets in the Eastern fashion. His only weapon was a long dagger thrust through his sash. He halted before the steps and touched a hand to his breast, inclining his head very slightly.

"Judah greets Rome," the king said.

Norbanus rose and descended the steps. He took the king by the hand. "Rome greets Jonathan, king of the Jews." Behind him, he knew that his subordinates were stricken as by the lightning of Jupiter. Their commander, with no authority from the Senate, was recognizing this foreigner as not only king of Judah, but of Israel as well!

Jonathan smiled. Norbanus led him up the steps to a chair beside his own. He presented his officers and proffered the compliments of the Senate and People of Rome. He apologized for not presenting his army for a royal review, informing Jonathan that regulations required every Roman legion to fortify its camp by nightfall, wherever it was. Even a proconsul could not ignore regulations. He promised a full review the next day.

"Word had reached us that the Romans had returned to Italy," Jonathan said. "I had expected to receive an embassy within the next year or so, should-"

"Should the Carthaginians not exterminate us swiftly?" Norbanus finished for him.

"Forgive me, but the whole tale of your return seemed so outlandish and unlikely, and the great might of Carthage so well known, that I thought it unlikely that I would ever see a Roman. I certainly did not expect four legions on my doorstep!" He laughed richly and Norbanus joined him.

"And now I may say that I am not at all displeased. As long as you do not abuse my subjects, you have full freedom of my country. I anticipate no difficulty, for I am already assured of your fine discipline."

"My men will not take a grain of wheat that is not paid for, nor will they molest your women. They will not be quartered upon your civilians but will stay housed in — their camps, and they will enter your towns only in small groups of no more than ten. My quaestors," he gestured toward four young officers, "are the bankers for their legions and will confer with your merchants and supply officers for all goods we need in bulk."

Jonathan nodded gravely. "It is good to arrange these necessary mundanities early, before there can be a chance for friction and unfortunate incidents. I find all your proposals more than reasonable. Now, the last word we had was that a large Roman contingent was with the army of Hamilcar besieging Alexandria. Is this that force? I can think of no other so near that might have come from so unexpected a direction."

"It is," Norbanus confirmed.

"I see. Please allow me to congratulate you on a tactical masterstroke. Nobody had the slightest notion that you were coming this way. Taking to the desert instead of the safe coastal route. Nobody had guessed your location or route. I suppose that this has also given you a certain-ah- shall we say, freedom of action which you might not otherwise have enjoyed." There was a rustling of shifting feet on the dais. The subtleties of his excellent Greek packed the words with a meaning clear even to the Romans: Jonathan knew that by avoiding the coastal ports Norbanus had freed himself from oversight and control by the Senate.

Norbanus shifted the subject. "I take it you have learned of our reconquest of Sicily?"

"Every ship from the West brings word of new Roman successes."

"They shall continue to do so. This detour of ours was unexpected and we are eager to return to Italy and reinforce Rome's might. Your aid in our return to our ancestral homeland will be remembered with utmost gratitude by the Senate and People of Rome."

Jonathan nodded. "I will of course do my utmost to help. Sadly, Judah is not a maritime nation. The distance to Italy is great and Carthage, at least for the moment, rules the sea. I fear that your return must entail a very long march, all the way to Greece."

Norbanus sighed theatrically. "Alas, it is as I feared. This means we must march through the land claimed by your usurping cousin, does it not?"

"It can scarcely be avoided," the king agreed.

"Might we expect the usurper to be hostile?"

"Doubtless his spies are already flogging their horses northward to tell him of your arrival. Whatever his decision, he will have ample time to prepare. He will learn that we are now friends, and he may take this amiss."

"Rome, of course, desires no conflict with the rulers of the East. However, since this-his name is Manasseh, I believe? — is clearly not the legitimate ruler, and you have proclaimed yourself to be a friend of Rome, I foresee no objection from the Senate."

The king leaned back and stroked his beard. "Things are moving very quickly."

Norbanus laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Events can never transpire too quickly for men of vision and destiny. Such men seize them and bend them to their own will."

"Very true," Jonathan said. "There is Syria to consider. The House of Seleucus is no longer what it was, but it is still formidable. As recently as this summer, Antiochus contemplated an assault upon Egypt. Parthia presses him now, but if he can make his peace with them, he may turn his attention south once more."

"My friend Jonathan," Norbanus said, now not quite so jovial, "your land is a fine one, and I do not doubt that your men are doughty warriors, but if Antiochus decides to march south in full force he will crush you. Your only course will be to kiss the ground before his feet and hope that he will allow you to keep your throne, if only as his puppet."

He paused a few moments, allowing this vision to sink in. "With the friendship of Rome, however, you have nothing to fear. Rome will not only confirm you in your throne and your titles, but will increase them. Rome always rewards her friends lavishly." He was glad that the stony faces of his subordinates yielded nothing.

"Please do not think me rude if I observe that these are vaunting words from a people who were thought extinct until last year, and who have yet to display an unshakable grip upon the peninsula of Italy."

Norbanus smiled. "Tomorrow I'll assemble my legions and put them through their paces for your entertainment. Once you have seen them, tell me whether you think Rome cannot deliver on her promises."