Zama

by Dan Armstrong

  Vangue was a smart, rather oily man, with ebony skin and a set of eyes that always seemed to be moving. He stood a few feet from his master watching him lounge like a water buffalo on the couch, waiting for that moment when Hasdrubal would want his goblet refilled. “All men must have an opponent in their life,” the slave said. “They are necessary to make one a better man.”

  Hasdrubal looked up at him. “The Roman Scipio should be enough for anyone.” Hasdrubal had suffered badly in Spain at the hands of the young Roman general. The battle of Ilipa had been more a whipping than combat.

  After Vangue had filled the goblet for a third time, Hasdrubal sat up, and with visible effort, swung his thick legs to the floor. “Have Sophonisba brought to me. Tell her to wear the gown I like so much.”

  Vangue nodded and headed off to Hasdrubal’s daughter’s suite of rooms on the second floor. He had heard the chambermaids talking earlier and knew that Sophonisba would be bathing. Vangue went out to the patio through the bedroom.

  Sophonisba sat up to her shoulders in soap suds in a bath sunken into the marble surface of the patio and shaded by a silk awning. Two young Numidian slaves, Nycea and Gaia, knelt in the water on either side of her, washing her hair. A third slave, an older Numidian woman, Zanthia, Sophonisba’s personal handmaiden, stood beside the pool, supervising. A cheetah cub named Felicia slept in the sun on the far side of the patio. Four large porphyry vases, each containing a dwarf lemon tree, stood at regular intervals along the balustrade. The dull blue silhouette of the Atlas mountains stretched across the horizon well beyond the plantation’s expanse of grain fields.

  The two young slaves saw Vangue first. They quickly closed in around Sophonisba for her privacy. Zanthia held up her hands to stop the man from coming any closer. “You may be a eunuch, Vangue, but you can’t come in here unannounced. The lady of the house is not dressed.”

  Vangue was the top slave. With Hasdrubal’s wife dead three years now, he ran the house, but Zanthia supervised the women slaves and had her own source of power in the household. She ushered him out the way he came in. “What do you want?”

  Vangue gripped her by the forearm. “Continue to talk to me like that, you old whore, and I’ll find a whip for your backside. Tell Sophonisba her father wants to see her in the courtyard. She’s to wear the gown he considers his favorite.” He released Zanthia’s arm, spun around, and strode back through the suite of rooms.

  Sophonisba passed the intrusion off as something well beneath her acknowledgment. Though only seventeen, she had gained a reputation in Carthage for her beauty and the elevated manner in which she presented herself. When the two slaves finished rinsing her hair, she stood from the bath wearing a shimmering veneer of water. Her hair, black like her father’s, was straight, long, and lustrous, matched by a thick patch of maiden hair that rose in a thin trail up to her navel. Her breasts stood out unsupported like two halves of a melon, each crowned with a small, dark nipple. The curves of her hips beneath a silk gown could stop a man at a hundred feet and suggested all the unstated mystery of a woman’s sensuality. Her skin was opalescent with the luster of youth, a stark white compared to the glistening brown of her chambermaids, who were dotted here and there with puffs of white soap bubbles. But Sophonisba’s real beauty was in her face, beginning with her eyes—a startling aquamarine, almost luminous in the dark like a she-wolf’s, and deep with the intellect and melancholy of a poetess—and culminating with her lips—the color of cinnabar, and perpetually poised in an unfathomable, beckoning pout.

  The maids quickly dried Sophonisba with white linen towels. Then Zanthia held out a matching robe so she could step from the bath into the soft garment.

  “Your father has requested your presence, Sophonisba,” said Zanthia. “He’s downstairs in the courtyard. I’ll put out the gown you’re to wear.”

  Sophonisba pulled her robe around her and strode, slow and languid like a cat, out to the patio to let the warm winter sun dry her hair. She sat on a stone bench beside the napping cheetah and distractedly reached down to pet the kitten her father had given her for her seventeenth birthday. The little cat lifted its head at her touch and nuzzled against her leg. Gaia stood behind Sophonisba, combing her luxurious hair that reached nearly to the patio surface, while Nycea manicured her fingernails.

  Zanthia leaned on the patio balustrade and watched the maids at their work. She had been Sophonisba’s handmaiden since the young woman’s mother died. She had grown to love Sophonisba and talked to her at night like a mother, comforting her with stories of her own past and speculations on the young woman’s future.

  When the maids were done, Sophonisba’s hair had been braided and coiled on top of her head in a spiral tower. The three slaves escorted the young woman to her bedroom to finish the task of preparing her for her father.

  Hasdrubal stood by the courtyard pool, watching a variety of small fish, each with a ruby embedded in its dorsal fin, pass in and out of sight beneath the lily pads. Vangue hovered in the shadows off to one side of the courtyard watching his master, then turned as Sophonisba appeared. She wore a pale-blue, one-shoulder gown of fine silk that clung to her hips and torso like a second layer of skin. A teardrop of amber hung from a gold chain around her neck. Smaller, matching amber teardrops were suspended on gold chains from her earlobes. A streak of antimony colored her eyelids. A gloss of olive oil moistened her lips. Her slippers were gold lamé, just visible at the hem of her dress as she walked. An unseen chain of gold stretched from one ankle to the other, preventing her from taking too long a stride.

  On reaching the pool, Sophonisba embraced her father and kissed him on both cheeks. He placed his hands on her waist and held her back to admire her beauty. Aside from his money and power, he enjoyed nothing more than the sight of his daughter. As he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, his hands slipped to her hips, then slid around to her backside to stroke her haunches affectionately like he might a thoroughbred horse.

  He took her hand and led her to an alabaster bench beside the pool. He settled onto the bench and drew her down beside him. For a moment he simply gazed at her. She reminded him of her mother at the same age. Elissa had not been as lovely as Sophonisba, but she had graced her daughter with the same sensual manner of movement and a nearly numinous sense of sexuality. In Hasdrubal’s eyes, a woman was born for one thing. His daughter embodied it. He laid his hand on her knee as though touching her were irresistible.

  “It’s time I found you a husband,” he said, captured by her eyes. “For my own reasons I have wanted to put your wedding day off as long as possible,” his hand rose up from her knee to pat her lightly on the thigh, “but the hour glass is running out. The time has come.”

  Sophonisba bowed her head. She had been educated in Carthage by the best tutors money could buy. She knew Greek and Latin and Numidian, had studied arithmetic and astronomy, had read Euripides, Sophocles, and Aeschylus, and wrote poetry to the goddess Tanit to free her from the troubles of the world. She had known from childhood this day would come.

  “The war has taken a turn for the worse,” said Hasdrubal. “You and I have already spoken of this.”

  Sophonisba nodded. Her father talked frequently with her about the war and politics. He considered it part of her education.

  “The fate of Carthage is in jeopardy. The Council of Elders anticipates a Roman invasion in the spring. In the next few months, I will seek an alliance with one of our neighboring African nations. Should I not be able to reach an agreement on political grounds, I will offer your hand in marriage as further inducement.”

  Sophonisba again was not surprised at what her father was telling her. She had been groomed for this all her life. She expected it.

  Her father continued. “Because of your beauty and your ancestry, you are considered one of the greatest prizes in Africa. I would rather you marry a Carthaginian of standing, but the situation may dictate otherwise.” He paused thinking of the two potential husbands, Syphax and Gala, both Nu
midian kings of great wealth. “You’re likely to be made a queen, and your children will share the blood of royalty.”

  Sophonisba didn’t hesitate. “I am ready, Father. There is no greater honor for a Carthaginian woman than to wed for the sake of the state.”

  Hasdrubal embraced his daughter. “You are the daughter all fathers want. You are brave and intelligent, and more lovely than you know. By the lord of the skies, Baal Shamin, I have been blessed.” He stroked her back tenderly. “You may go now. There will be more talk of this in the coming weeks.”

  As Sophonisba stood, she noticed Vangue for the first time, standing in the shadows. His eyes met hers. She looked away but his eyes followed her until she passed out of sight.

  CHAPTER 25

  Zanthia suddenly clapped her hands. Nycea and Gaia hurried out of the bedroom. Zanthia went over to Sophonisba sitting on the side of the bed and began to gently brush the young woman’s hair. With each stroke its luster heightened so that it shone like polished obsidian.

  “Why the sad eyes tonight, Sophie?”

  “My fate is one of melancholy.” She spoke to her slaves in their native language. “It is who I must be.”

  “What do you mean by that? You have more wealth and beauty than any woman would dare to ask for.”

  “What good is wealth and beauty when my maids have more freedom than I?”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. Trust your well-traveled handmaiden. The gods have been very good to you.”

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Zanthia. I do honor my father and hold nothing above the well-being of Carthage. It is my duty to fulfill his wishes. But I fear I will never know a romance of my own. I yearn for what you must know. I want to know what men are really like.”

  “If you follow the example of your mother, the art of knowing men will be your strength.”

  “I did not miss her art with men. But that’s not what I long for. I want to know from you, a woman of honest lust, what real love is?

  “A woman of honest lust?” Zanthia, a brown skinned woman of forty years, chuckled softly. “Is that an honor or a disparagement, my lady?”

  Sophonisba took Zanthia’s free hand and held it between both of hers. “Oh, Zanthia, an honor of course. To know men is a wisdom of which I am all too ignorant. I want to know what it’s like to be touched by a man,” she let go of her maid’s hand, “who’s not my father.”

  Zanthia’s look was one of wisdom. “At least he has not spoiled your virtue as many a father might have with a daughter as tempting as you. Be thankful your father has had the sense not to tamper with your honor.”

  Sophonisba hung her head thinking about it.

  Zanthia embraced her as though she were her daughter. “Men are something else, Sophie. Especially those with power like your father. Just know that love is rarely what we want it to be. The fabric of fate is a tricky weave. Prepare yourself for more than you imagine.”

  Sophonisba stood and strode across the room. “Cavalry is the only thing my father talks about. If his talks go well, I’m destined to be a Numidian queen.”

  “I was a gift from King Syphax to your father the day your mother died. If he should be your father’s choice, you would be queen of one of the most spectacular kingdoms in all of Africa. Certainly there are worst fates than that.”

  “If not Syphax, than Gala, a man of seventy or more years.”

  “And another large kingdom.”

  Sophonisba turned away to stare off into the dark recesses of her bedroom. “A king might be something any other woman would die for,” she whispered to herself, “but is dead dry obligation to me.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Hasdrubal Gisgo paced anxiously on the bow of a Carthaginian trireme, watching the six triremes ahead of him navigate into the harbor at Siga on the African coast in west Numidia. Hasdrubal was there to talk to King Syphax about a military alliance between Carthage and the Masaesyli people. He would offer his daughter in the arrangement, but only if it could not be avoided.

  Hasdrubal watched the first of the seven triremes being towed onto the beach. Once all the ships were secured, he would be escorted to the palace to talk to the king. They had met before, but under less pressing circumstances. If he could not reach an agreement with Syphax, his next trip would be to east Numidia, to speak to King Gala of the Maesulii tribe.

  A sailor high on the mast suddenly shouted out that there were warships on the horizon. Hasdrubal and all his commanders turned to the open sea. Just barely discernable from the deck were two Roman quinqueremes, clearly intending to come into the harbor. Hasdrubal, thinking he had the advantage with seven ships, ordered his commanders to come about and attack. The Roman ships, powered by five tiers of oars and two large sails, caught a favorable breeze and glided into the harbor before the Carthaginian ships could turn around. Knowing that a sea battle in his host’s harbor would work against any efforts to reach an alliance, Hasdrubal canceled his orders and watched the Roman ships run up onto the shore.

  Hasdrubal was not the only one courting the tribes of North Africa in preparation for an invasion. Publius Cornelius Scipio, the youngest of the Roman generals, had recently evicted all but a few scattered Carthaginians troops from Spain. The siege of Cartagena, followed by innovative victories over Hasdrubal Barca at Baecula and Hasdrubal Gisgo in Ilipa had added to Scipio’s reputation as an up and coming military commander.

  While Fabius and the controlling faction in the Roman Senate still argued against an invasion of Africa, Scipio proceeded on this path as though it were already settled. Three weeks earlier he had sent his naval commander and closest advisor, Gaius Laelius, to Siga laden with gifts, to see if King Syphax would be open to negotiating an agreement of friendship with Rome. Syphax, yet to be approached by Hasdrubal Gisgo, said that he was not against the idea, but that he would only enter into a serious discussion if it was face to face with the dashing, young Roman general.

  Scipio, then stationed in Tarraco on the east coast of Spain, made the trip with Laelius in two quinqueremes, and as luck would have it, arrived in the harbor at Siga the same day as Hasdrubal.

  Unaware that the Roman commander was Scipio, Hasdrubal went ashore first with twenty armed soldiers. Shortly afterward Scipio and Laelius followed with a squadron of legionnaires. The two parties were just realizing they were there for the same reason when the Numidian king met them at the wharf with his entourage. Syphax, honored to be visited by generals from the two most powerful nations in the Mediterranean region, invited the men into his palace for a feast. The circumstances could hardly have been more awkward for his guests.

  Syphax, who could speak passable Greek, was no fool. Concerned that a Roman invasion would be difficult for all African nations, he decided to take the opportunity to offer himself as a mediator between the two warring republics. He began the sumptuous dinner by proposing a treaty between Rome and Carthage.

  Scipio respectfully rejected the idea. While he had no personal grievance with Hasdrubal, and he respected the wisdom of his host, for peace was always a better option than war, he could not enter into any kind of treaty without guidance from the Roman Senate.

  Scipio’s manner and elevated sense of diplomacy, particularly with regard to his handling of Syphax’s offer, made a strong impression on the barbarian king. Even Hasdrubal, who Scipio showed the utmost courtesy, was impressed by this man he had faced across a battlefield several times, but now shared a dining couch with.

  Scipio tactfully directed the conversation away from the war or any other divisive issues, then proceeded to charm both Syphax and Hasdrubal with his knowledge and graciousness. Hasdrubal knew before the meal was over that he had no chance of winning over Syphax the way Scipio had. He had planned to offer Syphax his daughter’s hand in marriage as a last resort, but to suddenly offer Sophonisba to Syphax now, when the king was so clearly under the influence of Scipio, was disrespectful to his daughter. He decided against it. The trip to Siga had been for na
ught. He left for Carthage the following morning, knowing his only other source of military support would be King Gala. He would make the trip inland to Gala’s palace in Cirta as soon as he could.

  Scipio, on the other hand, stayed two more days in Siga. During that time, using even greater delicacy than he had shown at the dinner table, he reached an agreement of friendship with Syphax that included a promise that the king would give no monetary or military assistance to Carthage. Syphax responded by offering Scipio the use of his cavalry when he came to Africa. It was exactly what Scipio had sought.

  After his return to Tarraco, Scipio left for Rome to inform the Senate of his treaty with Syphax and to advocate for a consulship in the coming election.

  CHAPTER 27

  Sophonisba sat in the window seat of her bedroom reading the poetry of Sappho with her little cheetah cub in her lap. On the far side of the room, Zanthia plucked at the strings of a kithara. Commotion in the yard below attracted Sophonisba’s attention. From the window, she watched two of her father’s house guards swing open the compound gates for ten men on horseback. A handsome Numidian warrior, riding a beautiful black garron with no saddle and only a rope halter, led the contingent into the compound. The young man dismounted with such flourish Sophonisba could not help but watch him. He was clean-shaven and wore a white linen robe. A brilliant blue mantle wrapped around his head and lay about his shoulders. A short sword hung from a belt at his hip.

  “Zanthia, quick, come to the window!” As her handmaiden came across the room, Sophonisba put the kitten on the floor and stood to allow Zanthia to look out the window. “Do you know who that man is?”

  They both watched a stable boy take the halter of the man’s horse, then lead the horse and the other nine riders to the stable to water and feed their mounts. One of the house guards approached the Numidian and bowed. A few words were exchanged, then the guard escorted the man to the house.