"He's taking the initiative," Marcus said, meaning Parmenion. Ptolemy was safely in Alexandria.
Flaccus pointed beyond the Egyptian army. "He's extending his line." The Carthaginian right, with the Romans at the extreme end, were stepping out in that direction, thinning the center somewhat.
"Trying for an envelopment," Marcus commented. "Hannibal's favorite tactic. It won't work, and it will leave the legions out there ready to be cut off and surrounded by the mounted troops."
"If Parmenion is clever enough to pull it off. From what I've seen so far, he's perfectly conventional. I think this calls for a drink." He unhooked a wineskin from his saddle and held it over his head, directing the stream into his mouth. He held the skin out toward Marcus but his friend shook his head. "Strange observing a battle from a distance like this, isn't it?"
"Right. I'm used to being in the thick of it. First blood now." On both sides the archers and slingers began to ply their weapons. A few heavy arrow-hurlers were brought into play, but these weapons were better suited for the siege than the battlefield. Still, where they struck the battle lines a single shaft could bring down five or six men at once.
Then the lines came together with a din that the observers could hear even at their distance. For a few seconds all was churning and flashing metal, then the dust rose and obscured most of the spectacle. They saw the Egyptian elephants charge toward the Romans while the horse cavalry made a wide circle to the left to catch them in flank and rear.
"I hope the legion commander has more brains than these people," Marcus said, striving for impassivity but without success. His tension and distress were plain as he saw the Romans under attack. There were old friends and colleagues out there, and it was largely his doing that brought them to this field. He felt that he should be over there with them, even as he chided himself for thinking so. This was not time to be thinking like a mere legion commander. He had broader horizons to consider now.
Titus Norbanus thrilled with anticipation. This would be a great battle and he was in command of the legions! Back in Noricum, it would have been many years before he could have aspired to such a command, but circumstances had thrown this opportunity his way and he had seized it with both hands. Now the armies were about to join battle and his subordinate commanders awaited his orders. They hadn't been happy with Hamilcar's order to extend the line, but Norbanus assured them that it would change nothing, save to weaken the center and make the Roman role on the right flank all the more crucial. He had begun formulating his strategy during planning sessions in the Shofet's command tent. Now he knew with precision the weaknesses of Hamilcar's military thinking and he knew how to take advantage of them.
From atop his command tower he studied his dispositions. It was a lightweight but strong structure of iron-braced wood, its members fastened with iron pins, easily disassembled and moved at need. It was about twenty feet high and gave him an adequate view of the battlefield over the heads of his troops. Its platform had room for a half-dozen officers and his signalers.
The Eighth Legion anchored the right flank. It was his veteran legion, fresh from a campaign against the Germans, the logical choice to hold the crucial flank. To its left were the Twelfth and Ninth, both salted but without as many campaigns to their standards as the Eighth. In the rear of these three legions the Seventh was deployed in reserve. This was a legion made up largely of veterans recalled to the standards. Its cohorts were arranged in a long line behind the three foremost legions. It was Roman belief that a veteran, though in his forties or even fifties, was worth ten recruits on the battlefield. Should the frontline legions falter and fall back, the veterans would be there to stiffen them.
"The horses will present no problem," said Priscus, commander of the Ninth. "But the men have never faced elephants before."
"They're just big cows," Norbanus said. "Tell your boys to use the men on their backs for javelin practice. The animals will be easy to kill then." He paused a moment. "Don't kill all of them. I want some for my triumph." Behind him, the others traded significant glances. Surely, Norbanus didn't think he'd be awarded a triumph for a battle fought under the command of a foreign king.
"Now let's go over this again," Norbanus went on. "First we take care of the elephants and cavalry. By the time we've done that, Hamilcar will be in trouble because his mercenaries don't have all that much cohesion, while those professionals over there across the field look like they know their business. They'll press the center and the left hard. Once our flank is secure, the Eighth will advance. At my signal, the Twelfth goes next, then the Ninth will wheel to the left, anchored on the left-hand cohort. The Twelfth and the Eighth will wheel likewise until all three have changed front and are at right angles to the rest of the army, just like a big door swinging shut. We'll have them boxed between Hamilcar, the sea and us. When we advance, they'll have no choice except to fall back on Alexandria."
"Have you told Hamilcar that this is your plan?" Priscus asked.
Norbanus looked at him. "Tell him? Why?"
The commander of the Ninth spoke. "It seems to me that we could just keep the swinging action going until we've rolled up Ptolemy's flank and closed on his rear. We could bag the lot and let none escape."
Norbanus grinned. "Hamilcar wants us to hold the flank and that's what we'll do. We're not here to win his battle for him all by ourselves." The others nodded, understanding. Hamilcar would know who was responsible for preventing a disaster. He would value the Romans all the more. The war would continue, and their rewards would be all the greater.
"Return to your legions," Norbanus ordered. "The fun is about to start."
While his subordinates went back to their men, Norbanus savored the experience of being on his own command tower, alone except for his trumpeters and flag men. The legions glittered with steel and bronze, not as colorful as the polyglot armies of the two kings, but more purposeful. The new eagle standards sent out from Rome reared their gilded wings before the ballet line. He would be the first to test this new model Roman army. History would remember him for this.
Across the field, the Ptolemaic soldiers began to advance. Norbanus observed his own reactions. He was pleased to note that he felt no trepidation, only excitement. This was what war should be—not chaotic struggles in the forest against half-savage barbarians, but a huge game of skill and nerve between civilized armies commanded by men who played for the stakes of destiny.
The cavalry and elephants came on with frightening intensity, raising a huge cloud of dust. The legions made the usual preparations for receiving cavalry. The men of the front line knelt behind their shields and braced the butts of their pila against the ground, the points slanted toward the oncoming animals. The men of the second line remained upright but slightly crouched, with their spears pointed over the heads of the first line. The men of the lines behind them prepared to throw first their light javelins, then the heavy ones.
From the Eighth Legion, he heard the call of a solitary trumpet. In response, four files on the extreme right made a right-facing movement, preparing for the customary outflanking maneuver by the cavalry. In response to calls of another horn, the right-end cohorts of the reserve legion prepared for a wheeling movement, should one be necessary, to block flanking cavalry. They would remain where they were until another call told them to move.
Norbanus realized that this was the most frustrating stage for a commander. His job was largely done in making his dispositions and briefing his subordinates. Now he would rely on their skill and adherence to his orders. The only decisions he had left to him were when to begin the wheeling movement and when, or if, to commit his reserves. He gestured to his body servant who stood below, eyes upon his master. The man came up the ladder, his satchel of implements slung behind him, along with a large jug.
The man poured wine into a cup and handed it to Norbanus. He drank, savoring the splendid Spanish vintage. The cup was of hammered gold, decorated with a relief of satyrs and nymphs. It had once been
the possession of the Tyrant of Syracuse, or so Zarabel had told him. Both cup and wine were her gifts, along with all the other comforts of his command tent: the praetorium. He was quickly acquiring a taste for such fine things.
Many old-fashioned senators would be scandalized to hear that a Roman general was drinking wine from a golden cup while overseeing a battle. That meant nothing. Norbanus had less and less patience with anything old-fashioned. The new world would belong to new men. He sipped as the screams of men and horses tore through the air, then the trumpeting of the elephants, all of it seeming like a great munera put on for his benefit.
All along the Roman line the huge beasts were pressing at the legionaries even as the cavalry used them as a screen to loop around the right flank. The Romans had no cavalry as yet, but Hamilcar had supplied them with a force of Libyans: light-armed tribesmen who rode bareback, swinging their knotted locks as they snatched short javelins from quivers and hurled them at Ptolemy's horsemen from close range. Men and horses began to go down.
He returned his attention to the front lines, where the elephants were making little headway. The Roman line held and men were toppling from the backs of the giant beasts. Here and there a Roman was dragged from the line by a trunk and smashed like an insect beneath its feet. Norbanus saw a Roman impaled by an iron-tipped tusk, raised like a speared fish and hurled a score of paces through the air. Men were struck by javelins and arrows from the castles on the elephants' backs. But these losses were minor compared to those suffered by the Egyptians.
Horses and elephants were killed by the heavy Roman pila. Many more were maddened by wounds and tore back through their own lines, spreading confusion. The cavalry tried to press their outflanking maneuver, only to come against the refused wing of the Eighth, perfectly prepared to receive them on their points. The coordinated effort dissolved and fell back in confusion.
Satisfied that all was well with his own legions, Norbanus turned his attention to the center. The dust was now too thick to see much of the left flank, and he could see almost nothing at all of the great sea battle now raging beyond, but the situation of the center was exactly as he had anticipated. Hamilcar's extension had weakened it and the front lines were falling back upon the reserve. At least that band of Greek professionals was holding fast, although the front, mostly troops from the subject cities of North Africa, was getting butchered.
He wished that he could see the left better. An Egyptian breakthrough on the left would be disastrous. They could have Ptolemy's forces in their rear in no time. He knew he could keep his legions intact but the rest of the army would be annihilated and many of his ambitions with it. He would be forced to negotiate a separate peace with Ptolemy or whoever was negotiating on the boy's behalf. He would return to Rome without dishonor, and indeed with a good deal of credit, but that was not enough for Titus Norbanus. He intended to become master of Rome, Carthage and Egypt, and he would not accomplish this if Hamilcar's war with Egypt were to fail here on this field.
Abruptly, he turned and went to the rear of the platform. Below, a score of dispatch riders stood holding their reins, awaiting his orders. He pointed to one of them. "You!" He linked the face to a name: Barbannus, a young man of senatorial family. "Barbannus! Go to the left flank and find out the situation there. Return and report to me at once!"
"Yes, Proconsul!" With a look of joyous exuberance, the youth leaped onto his saddle and pounded away north. The others watched him with envy. They were all wellborn young men, most of them still in their teens, itching to get into action.
Norbanus went back to the front and held out his hand. His servant placed the golden cup, refilled, into it. He sipped and narrowed his eyes. His men were waving their weapons and cheering as the Egyptians retreated. Centurions took advantage of the lull to reorder their lines even as they wiped blood from their swords. He eyed the litter of dead and wounded men, horses and elephants before the Roman lines. They would be a hindrance when he began the wheeling movement. The men were no problem but the lines would have to split around the dead animals and re-form beyond them. Oh, well. He'd always known that a real battlefield is nothing like a parade ground.
Minutes later young Barbannus came galloping back and leaped upon the ladder directly from his horse's back. He scrambled up and stood before his commander, saluting and all but bursting with the importance of his duty.
"Report," Norbanus said.
"The left is holding. They are being attacked by some black savages, but the left is held by Spanish Gauls, tough men and well led. Some Alexandrian galleys came in close and tried to hurl missiles from their engines, but the range was too great. There is no danger on the left."
"Excellent," Norbanus said, dismissing the boy. He looked toward the center again. Things were getting desperate there. He checked his own lines. All had been reordered and the men were in the best of spirits. He spoke to his chief trumpeter and the man sounded a prearranged call. Others took up the call. The legions began to move out.
It was a beautiful thing to watch, even with the men having to negotiate the obstacles presented by the carcasses. The Eighth strode forward with great panache. And the Twelfth moved out as soon as the rear line of the Eighth passed them. Then the Ninth wheeled left, the left-hand man on the front line marking time in place while the whole line to his right turned in a majestic quarter-circle until the whole legion was facing due north. The other two legions made their own turns and marched forward on the new front until all were even, presenting a continuous line to the Egyptian left flank.
Norbanus raised his hand and the trumpets brayed and red flags waved. The legions began to move north at a slow walk. Within moments the victorious Egyptians saw that the situation had changed terribly. The left flank began to fall in toward the center. Man crammed against man, body against shield. Men fell and others tripped over the fallen. A dismayed shout arose and panic spread. The Romans came into contact with the enemy but they did not charge. Instead, they just pressed steadily, first hurling their javelins, then thrusting their swords in an almost musical rhythm, gutting their enemies, piercing their throats, cutting off a hand here, a leg there, as calmly as workers in a slaughterhouse. Such was the jamming and confusion in the enemy lines that Roman losses were all but nil.
Norbanus grinned as he saw a group of mounted men detach themselves from the rear of the enemy center. They turned north until they reached the coastal road, then they were pelting eastward at a gallop. These, he knew, had to be Ptolemy's commanders, heading for Alexandria as fast as they could ride. Already, other men were leaving the Egyptian rear and retreating eastward. At first they left by units, retreating in good order under discipline. But the forward lines, engaged with the Carthaginians, were different. As the pressure from their rear eased, they began falling back hastily. When Hamilcar's soldiers pressed forward, they turned and ran, many of them to be skewered from behind. The rout became general.
"Signal the halt," Norbanus said. The huge, curved cornicen sounded and the legions stopped their advance. Disbelieving, the men in front of them who could still move at all joined in the rout and soon all over the field there was little to be seen except men running east in disorder. Hamilcar's light troops and cavalry harried them, cutting them down as they fled, but the troops of the center and the left were too exhausted to press a determined pursuit and exterminate the enemy. Norbanus estimated that three quarters of Ptolemy's army would make it safely to Alexandria. That suited him. He surveyed his fine lines, the quickly recovering Carthaginian forces, and the fleeing rabble, many of which had abandoned shields, weapons and honor. He saw a pair of observers sitting their horses on the crest of a ridge to the east and he wondered who they might be.
“That was well done!” Marcus said, his jaw all but dropping in admiration. "Both the legionaries and their commanders behaved splendidly!"
"I concur," Flaccus said, finished with his sketches and now making notes. "Surely the commander can't be Norbanus. He's not that good. T
he Senate must have sent out one of the best."
Marcus watched a while longer. "No, I think it must be Norbanus. I didn't think he was that good, either, but he's devious enough to have planned this and pulled it off. I don't know any other Roman of propraetorian rank that clever."
"How do you mean?" Flaccus asked, rolling up his papyri and stowing them in a leather tube.
"He could have won the battle just now, kept up the pressure, kept his men moving and caught the whole Egyptian army in a nutcracker with no escape but the sea. But a great victory didn't suit him. It would have been a victory for Hamilcar. Instead he turned the tide of the battle and no more than that. Hamilcar will depend on him from now on. It was masterful, in its way."
"And you're more devious than I thought, to have figured it out so quickly. Speaking of the sea, how is the navy doing?"
Rapt with the land battle, Marcus had all but forgotten that men were fighting at sea. Out there, all appeared to be confusion as the two fleets were inextricably mixed together in a pall of smoke and a great litter of sinking vessels and floating oars, bodies and other debris. Gradually, he saw some ships backing away under oars, turning and heading back east. Either the sea fight was going badly, or they'd seen that the land battle was lost. One after another, they raised their masts and hoisted their sails to catch the favorable breeze. Soon, such of the Alexandrian fleet as were still seaworthy were making their way back to their home harbor. The Carthaginian fleet did not pursue.
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