"It seems a pity just to let him go," said the commander of one of the new legions, one of the younger Caesars.
"Long ago," Norbanus explained, "a defeated shofet could be crucified. But old Hannibal put an end to that. He abolished the republic and made the shofet a true king. If we kill Hamilcar now, as we easily could, who knows what might happen? He has no heir. The Council of One Hundred might choose a really capable man to lead them. They could raise up another Hannibal. But as I have arranged things, when we arrive before the walls of Carthage, who do you think will be in charge there?" He looked around at them, smiling. "Why, none other than Hamilcar Barca, the man whose fat backside we've just flogged bloody and sent running back to Africa!"
The men on the tower laughed uproariously, that swords-on-shields Roman laugh that struck terror into other nations. "General," Niger said, pointing to the natives who had abandoned Hamilcar and now fled westward, "shall we send out men to kill those fleeing savages?"
"No," Norbanus said. "I will treat with them later. They'll listen to me, because today they saw us accomplish the impossible. They will have the choice of being slaves or being allies of Rome. It will be the same choice the rest of the world will have, and I think they'll choose wisely. We can add their numbers to our army as we continue our march. There's nothing wrong with them as warriors. They were just badly led and they know it."
Now the officers looked at one another blankly with the same question in all their minds: Continue this already endless march?
That night, encamped outside the walls of Cartago Nova, Norbanus addressed his men, who were sorely puzzled about the events of the day—exhilarated by the victory that had cost so few of their lives, but baffled by its strange incompleteness.
"My soldiers," Norbanus began, "today you have won a great victory, one that shall shine in the annals of Roman history. Twice I have led you against the armies of Carthage. Twice I have crowned your standards with laurel!" He paused to let them cheer. "Today we could have annihilated that army whose numbers were so much greater than our own. It would have been glorious. It would have been satisfying. But it would have been foolish."
His men were silent, waiting for him to explain this enigma.
"Suppose we had wiped them out. What then? A great mass of Gauls and Iberians of all sorts would have been slaughtered. Hamilcar would have ridden away on his swiftest horse, or perhaps he would have been killed, and to what end? Carthage would have suffered little, and it is Carthage we have come so far to destroy!
"Carthage is not like Rome! Carthage does not send forth armies of its best, of its citizens. Carthage is rich in gold, and with this gold Carthage hires great masses of foreigners, and if they are wiped out, Carthage suffers little for it, because the hired soldiers are doled out only a pittance until the end of the war, when they are paid off." His men booed and jeered at the idea of such unmanly warmaking, of citizens so lacking in pride that they did not take up arms to fight their country's wars.
"So we will let this failure, this whipped dog, go back to Carthage to conduct its defense. We have nothing to fear from this man, this unworthy descendant of the great Hannibal. So, as soon as his ships have departed, to be shadowed by my own fleet, we shall resume our march. We will go west to the Pillars of Hercules and cross to Africa. And when we cross, we march on Carthage. And when we get to Carthage, we'll have done something nobody has ever done before. My veteran legions, who have been with me since the Alexandrian campaign, will have marched clear around the Middle Sea, making it Our Sea once again. How does that sound?" He gazed around at their silent, stunned faces, and he broke into a broad, orator's grin, so that his teeth reflected the torchlight to the men in the farthest ranks.
"I know. Sounds like a long, buggering walk and nothing to show for it but the bragging rights, eh? But listen to me, and I will tell you how you will be rewarded and exalted over all other citizens. Have any of you given thought to what you will do after this war is over?" More silence, but he knew he had their full attention.
"I can tell you. We will celebrate a fine triumph in Rome. You will get a vote of thanks from the Senate and the people. And that is all. For so long have we concentrated upon destroying Carthage, that we've given no thought to what happens next. I tell you, my soldiers, that when Carthage is nothing but smoke in the skies and rock dust at our feet, the noble Senate will have no further use for most of you. You, who have given so much to the state, will have nothing!" He watched their expressions of puzzlement turn to concern, then anger.
"Yes, those who were on the first part of this march did well. There was plenty of loot to be had. But what of the rest of you, and the others who will join us in destroying Carthage? Is there land for you to retire to? Not in Italy! And why not? You know very well. When Rome crossed the Alps and retook Italy, the first thing the old families did was to lay claim to their ancestral lands, which comprised most of Italy! All the finest, most fertile lands of the peninsula went right back to those families that claimed to have owned them before the Exile! None was left for the new family men, the men those old senatorial families so desperately needed to take those lands back for them. They would cast you off like an old, broken sword as soon as they had no further use for you!" Now there were grumbles and shouts of protest. Behind Norbanus, his senior officers looked at one another uneasily. This was beginning to sound ominous. Was their commander going to propose war on the Senate?
"I will not allow this to happen!" Norbanus shouted, silencing the grumblers. "The soldiers of Rome, the very backbone of our new empire, must not go unrewarded! If you stay with me, if you swear an oath to support me against all rivals, I will force the Senate's hand. At my demand, there will be rich lands for all of you in Africa. We will not allow the old families, those senators who are already unthinkably rich, to divide up the former possessions of Carthage among them. Those of you who joined us in Italy, ask the men of my old legions what those lands are like. They marched through them from Carthage to Alexandria. They are lands as fine, as fertile and well watered as any in Italy, lands where grain and grape and olive grow in abundance. The natives are docile and industrious and will make excellent slaves and work that land for you." He watched their faces as they lit up with hope, with determination, with greed. He knew now that he had them.
"You men know how these things work. You are citizens and voters. We will make the marches and do the fighting. We will fight our way to the very gates of Carthage. We will have the war all but won. And then what will happen? Why, the Senate, that glorious body of old men, will send out one of their own to take over command. They will set me aside and put some fat-bottomed old politician over you, the hardest-fighting army Rome has ever seen, so that some old family time-server can be in on the kill and claim all the loot. Are you going to let this happen?" First the men grumbled, then they shouted, "No! Never!"
Niger turned to Cato and said in a low voice: "I thought he had already extorted this command from theSenate. That he and his father were to have control of the war until its conclusion."
Cato, more politically astute than his friend, answered: "These men don't understand senatorial politics. They just know that their vote doesn't count for much. He's making them co-conspirators with him. When the time comes, they will back him against the Senate itself."
"But will we back him then?" Niger asked, deeply disturbed.
"That will depend upon where our interests lie. This is the new age. We will never betray Rome. But this is a new Rome. Will we side with the Rome of the Senate and the old families? Or with the new Rome of Titus Norbanus? We will have to see when we stand before the gates of Carthage. In the meantime, I suggest that we take direction from those men out there. Let's agree with what they decide, if we value our lives."
Lentulus Niger nodded, but he was still unsettled. Things were changing too fast. He had begun this campaign when Rome was united in purpose, in devotion to the will of the gods and in obligation to the revered ancestors. Now it
was breaking up into the squabbles of rival families, of rival voting blocs, of old and new families, of—he could think of no other term—rival warlords.
The soldiers made their decision plain. Once again, they chanted: "Im-per-a-tor! Im-per-a-tor! Im-per-a-tor!"
EPILOGUE
The town was called Thapsus. it was a tributary of Carthage, located on the Mare Internum south of the great city. It had been holding out for a number of days, but Marcus Scipio did not expect it to last much longer. The defense was halfhearted. These people had no reason to love Carthage—a brutal mistress to all its subjects. But the citizens were in the habit of fearing Carthage, and its terrible punishments for disloyalty.
Well, Marcus thought, we'll just have to teach them to fear Rome instead.
The lesson in terror was already well under way. The army encamped outside their walls had been frightening enough, if rather conventional. But the citizens had seen the ships in their harbor sunk by the weird underwater rams Scipio had brought. They were not seaworthy and had been carried on the decks of huge transport galleys.
The flying men had sown even more panic, though they were unable to do any actual harm. Marcus had thought of giving them incendiary pots to drop on buildings of the city, but Flaccus had dissuaded him, pointing out that the damage would be slight and would actually lessen the fear felt by the citizens of Thapsus. The terror inspired by flying men was enough. So every day they swooped low over the walls of the city, filling all and sundry with awe. If these Romans could make men fly, what could they not do?
The army provided Scipio by Selene was excellent, if not quite up to legionary standards. They were solid professionals, and he spent his days drilling them in Roman-style tactics so that when the time came, they would be ready to mesh with the legions converging upon Carthage.
Of far more concern to him than the weakening resolve of Thapsus was the word that had come to him that morning by one of his swift intelligence cutters. The two eccentric Greek philosophers had come to his command tent with the story of Norbanus's remarkable battle, and of his no less ominous speech to the soldiers afterward.
"Do you think he's making a bid for the dictatorship?" he asked Flaccus.
"He'd better, if he wants to save his head. The Senate will see him as nothing but a tyrant in the making now, because he's challenged their privileges. It's brilliant, you know."
"All too well," Scipio agreed. "All the more so because he's absolutely right. He foresaw what would happen to those soldiers and he turned it to his own purposes. They don't serve Rome now. They serve him. He will be their benefactor and they will be his private army. And there's more."
"What else?" Flaccus asked. He had put on weight in Egypt, and when they set out, he had had to let out the straps of his cuirass to accommodate his expanded girth. Now, after weeks of rigorous campaigning, it almost fit again.
"He spoke to them of Africa, so as not to inflame the Senate utterly. But you and I know he was thinking of Egypt. If he can take Egypt, he'll be the richest and most powerful man in the world. We have to keep Egypt out of his hands—out of any Roman hands. We can't allow that sort of concentration of wealth and power in one man. From now on, Rome must support Selene and the House of Ptolemy, but from a distance."
Flaccus scratched his head, itchy from wearing his helmet all day. "We weren't thinking about this sort of thing when we crossed the Alps, were we?"
"We were not. Sometimes I wish we had stayed in Noricum and forgot about regaining our old empire. This may cost us what made us good Romans in the first place."
Flaccus shrugged. "I don't want to remain in the cold North anymore. I've gotten used to the good life on the sea. Besides, there's no help for it. This was clearly the will of the gods. The times have changed. Rome and we will just have to accommodate to the new world."
"So we must," Marcus agreed. Once more he looked at the papyrus the Greeks had given him. It was a personal letter to him from Titus Norbanus, and very brief. He read the few words again: I will meet you at the walls of Carthage. Let the gods decide there.
John Maddox Roberts
www.spectrumliteraryagency.com/roberts.htm
John Maddox Roberts is the author of more than 50 books in the mystery, SF and historical genres. His novel SPQR was nominated for the Edgar Award and the series is now up to 13 volumes and 13 languages. He also writes the contemporary Gabe Treloar private eye novels. He lives in Estancia, New Mexico with his wife, Beth, and an indeterminate number of cats.
Table of Contents
Title page
Books by John Maddox Roberts
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
The Seven Hills Page 32