B004H4XRB4 EBOK

by Roberts, John Maddox

  "That's it, then," Flaccus said. "Let's go before someone down there takes an interest in us." Already, haggard, terrified men, some of them dripping from fresh wounds, were passing them in their flight. None of them had a glance to spare for the two Roman horsemen. "Now what happens," he asked as they pivoted their mounts.

  "Now the siege of Alexandria begins," Marcus told him. He touched his horse's flanks with his spurs. "Now we put a few of my own ideas to the test."

  That evening, Hamilcar feasted his officers and his allies in his great command tent. It was Carthaginian tradition to hold such a feast on the battlefield after a victory, among the enemy dead. The huge pavilion had its sides rolled up, so that the feasters could enjoy the sight of the loot and trophies and the enemy dead, and so that they could fully enjoy the disposal of the prisoners.

  Before the tent were piled on one side great heaps of weapons and armor, the captured enemy banners and standards, the loot taken from the enemy camp and the tents of Ptolemy's officers. All had been abandoned in the panicked flight of the Egyptian army.

  On the other side were the heads of the enemy slain arranged on poles and racks and when the Shofet's servants ran out of wood, the remaining heads were heaped in a great, pyramidal pile. All around, incense burned in braziers to alleviate the stench.

  In the center, directly before the Shofet's high couch, a bronze image of Baal-Hammon stood, a fire kindled in its belly. It was not as huge as the colossi back in the city, but it stood more than twice a man's height, hauled along on its own carriage following the army like a hungry vulture. All around it, bonfires flamed like relatives of the blaze in Baal's fat belly.

  Norbanus and his senior officers joined the Shofet as soon as their own men were encamped according to regulations. They were conducted to a couch next to the Shofet's own and they reclined at a long table, somewhat uncomfortably since they had retained their weapons and cuirasses. Hamilcar quirked an eyebrow in their direction.

  "I assure you the nearest Egyptians are far away," Hamilcar said. "My cavalry are still in pursuit."

  "It is our regulation, my Shofet," Norbanus said. "While our legions are in enemy territory, we must remain under arms." They retained their arms because assassination was not out of the question. Kings had been known to murder successful subordinates, just as a precautionary measure. Norbanus estimated that he and his officers could probably fight their way back to the Roman camp should it prove necessary. He raised his cup. Poison was also a hazard, but it would not do to show timidity here, so he drank. As always, the Shofet's wine was excellent.

  The men fell to feasting, and while the courses were brought in, Hamilcar distributed rewards and praise for those who had shown especial valor. His praise for the Romans was lavish, and with his own hands he draped massive golden chains around the necks of Norbanus and his officers, and promised generous cash donatives to the common legionaries. He praised their excellent precision in the spectacular and difficult change of front that had outflanked the Egyptians with such devastating results. He did not, however, hint that this move had not been his own idea.

  When the last dishes were cleared away and the cups refilled, Hamilcar ordered that the prisoners be brought in. There were several hundred of these, many of them wounded, others captured because they fell exhausted or were surrounded. Some were Alexandrian sailors that had swum ashore from sinking ships. All were tightly bound and dejected.

  By this time the hollow bronze statue of Baal-Hammon glowed luridly, its head a dull blood red, its hotter belly bright orange. The priests chanted the Moloch prayer as they marched in a circle around the image, casting handfuls of frankincense onto the glowing metal. The aromatic gum flashed away in puffs of sweet smoke. When the rites were done, burly temple slaves grabbed the first prisoner beneath the arms and looked toward the Shofet.

  Hamilcar stood and raised his hands with palms outward, toward the god. "O great Baal-Hammon, greatest among the Baalim, we thank you for this day's victory. In your honor we dedicate to you the flesh, blood, bones and lives of the enemy prisoners, to appease your hunger, to avert your wrath, and to plead for your further favor in battles to come. May their cries be music to your ears, and the smoke of their immolation pleasing to your nostrils. Carthage worships you, great Baal-Hammon."

  At his nod, the first prisoner was cast, screaming, into the glowing belly of the god. Even before his shrieks ceased, another was cast in. This was done until the glowing image would hold no more smoking, stinking flesh. Then the other prisoners were cast into the other, surrounding fires and while this was done, Hamilcar watched his new Roman allies carefully. Norbanus seemed perfectly at his ease and the rest were at least stoic.

  When the feast and sacrifice were at an end, the Romans took their leave and returned to their camp. Priscus was first to break the sullen silence.

  "What barbarians! Human sacrifice! Even the Gauls and Germans at their worst were never so disgusting!"

  "Peace," Norbanus said. After the day's battle, he had found the feast and the holocaust of the prisoners to be deeply satisfying. "Our allies might hear you. We don't want to hurt their feelings."

  Chapter 18

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

  "Not just yet," Parmenion cautioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "The Spartan took charge," she answered.

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

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

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

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

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

  "That makes no sense."

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "What about them?"

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

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

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

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

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

  "Do you think you can do this?"