Zama

by Dan Armstrong

  The guards sent a runner to headquarters. When the runner returned, the three men were admitted to the camp. The rest of the Numidian contingent watched from their horses.

  A short time later I was called to headquarters. Laelius’ opinion of me had greatly increased since I had shown him the spyglass. He seemed to recognize my intelligence and began to give me the same kind of respect I had received from Marcellus.

  Two centurions stood guard outside headquarters. The two Numidian soldiers who had accompanied their captain knelt on the ground nearby. The centurions knew who I was. One stood aside while the other lifted the tent flap and announced my arrival.

  I recognized the Numidian captain as soon as I saw his piercing green eyes. It was the dashing Masinissa, whom I had encountered during the trip to Rome with my mother and Lucretia. Laelius introduced me to the Numidian as his scribe. Because Masinissa’s Latin was limited, he spoke Greek, and I interpreted for Laelius.

  “I’ve heard that Syphax has pledged Masaesyli loyalty to Rome,” said the Numidian prince. “In no way should you trust him. He has recently invaded land that is rightfully mine, and with the assistance of a man by the name of Mazaetullus, installed my cousin, who is no more than a child, on my throne. This boy is little more than a puppet for Mazaetullus, and Syphax now believes that all Numidia is his.” Masinissa, I would learn, always expressed himself with tremendous passion, very much the antithesis of the stoic Roman officers.

  “Syphax was assisted in all of this by the Carthaginian Hasdrubal Gisgo.” His eyes flashed with intensity and intelligence. “He has promised Syphax my kingdom as a way of drawing him away from Scipio. Mark my words. Syphax cannot be counted on for anything.

  “While in Spain, Scipio asked me if I would consider offering my services to Rome as an allied cavalry commander. You were there, Laelius. I didn’t answer at the time, but the loss of my kingdom has prompted my decision. I would never fight on the same side as Syphax, but should he turn traitor, as I promise he will, I will put everything I have behind the Roman cause.”

  Laelius nodded his approval. Both he and Scipio had recognized the young man as a valuable asset.

  “The Carthaginians are currently scrambling to assemble troops, and courting Syphax is only part of it,” continued Masinissa. “Tell Scipio he is wasting time. Your raiding party should have been a full invasion.” Masinissa, at this time, was twenty-seven years old. He was making demands of a Roman officer several years his senior.

  Laelius’ response was measured. “Syphax has been cooperating with the Carthaginians. That’s something you know for certain?”

  “Cooperating! They’re fighting as one against my people. Against me! Is that something I know?” He laughed in derision. “Twice I have raised troops to counter Syphax’s actions. Each time I was greatly outnumbered and defeated.” He lifted his robe to his knee, revealing a large, recently healed wound. “Is Syphax’s collusion with Carthage something I know for a fact? Absolutely. The boy on my throne just married the daughter of Hannibal’s sister. Syphax, Mazaetullus, and Carthage are all in this together against me and will soon conspire against Rome!” Masinissa was an impressive and confident young man, remarkably bold for his years. Something told me I was witnessing a great and dynamic man very early in his life.

  Laelius listened to my translation and took a deep breath. “This is important information, Masinissa. I assure you I understand that. I will make certain the consul understands also. But you must realize that preparation for such an invasion is vast. We are not ready yet. My visit is necessary reconnaissance.”

  Masinissa shook his head when I passed on Laelius’ response. “Every day that passes is a day wasted,” he snapped. “Tell Scipio that even though I have been driven from my kingdom, I can bring a considerable force to the Roman side.” He pounded his chest twice with his fist. “Tell him a Roman victory in Africa is also a victory for me. That is the kind of loyalty he can count on.”

  “I will pass that on to Scipio,” said Laelius, showing remarkable patience with the fiery young man, but also, like myself, impressed by the confidence of the Numidian prince.

  Masinissa paced across the tent several times to cope with his vast energy. He stopped suddenly and faced Laelius. “You would be wise to be gone within the week. Carthage is preparing a fleet as we speak to prevent your ships from leaving shore.”

  The information gave Laelius pause. If true, it demanded immediate action. “We need three more days to finish packing the ships, Masinissa. Then we will leave. But I have one request to make of you, if you are willing.”

  Masinissa lifted his head.

  Laelius looked to me. “My scribe is a mapmaker. One of our objectives while we’re here is to prepare a map of the area around Carthage. The scribe has made some initial sketches.” He motioned to the map table on one side of the tent. “Would you look at what he’s done so far?”

  Masinissa went to the map table and studied my rough drawing. “This is done quite nicely,” he said, looking directly at me for the first time, studying my face as though remembering our encounter in Italy. “Maps have always fascinated me. I can certainly point out a few rivers and specific mountain peaks as references. But I can do better than that. Can your scribe ride a horse?”

  I nodded.

  “Give me two days with your scribe, Laelius, and I will give him a tour on horseback so he can add some detail to the inland regions.”

  Laelius was all for it. “A good map will be invaluable to the invasion. You can have him immediately.”

  It was a great opportunity, but it meant my taking off with a contingent of Numidian cavalry for two days. “I’ll need a horse, sir.”

  “I’ll have one readied for you.”

  Masinissa looked at me and tilted his head. “Your face is familiar to me, scribe. Have we met before?”

  “Yes, in Italy. I was traveling with two women.”

  His eyes lit. “One was your mother. She was ill.”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Such things are not accidents. Trust me. We have met for a reason.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Masinissa and I became friends almost immediately upon meeting the second time. He was a highly energetic and well-educated man, more at ease on a horse than at any other time. He hurried me from the tent leaning on my shoulder, excited to be assisting me with the map. His studies in Carthage had included rudimentary geometry and some modest introduction to numbers and the work of Pythagoras. By the time I had acquired a horse, he was asking me if I would come to Cirta after the war to help him map his kingdom. He was passionate, intelligent, and thirsty for knowledge. If I had any worries about riding off for two days with sixty Numidians, they were gone by the time we left the Roman camp.

  Masinissa introduced me briefly to his men, then told them where we were going and what we were trying to do. Without any further delay, we rode off at a gallop headed inland. In the distance was the ragged silhouette of the Atlas Mountains, a range that stretched a thousand miles across North Africa from the Pillars of Hercules to Carthage.

  I rode a Roman war horse, four palms taller than Balius. The Numidians rode their little garrons, charging and challenging each other to ride faster. It was thirty Roman miles to the outskirts of Carthage, and it seemed Masinissa was determined to be there before the sun set that afternoon. I had never tried to cover so much ground at such a speed on horseback before. It was all I could do to keep up as we raced southeast across the rising plains with no conversation beyond the hoots and yelps of the Numidian riders.

  Well before sunset we crested a series of low ridges and came to a halt. I was exhausted from riding. We had only stopped twice briefly for water. Masinissa pulled up alongside me and grinned. With his horse pawing at the ground, he pointed to the north. “That’s Carthage at the tip of that tongue of land. The elevated area in the center is Byrsa, crowned by the Temple to Eshmoun. The river you see is called the Bagradas.” He smiled broadly, showi
ng his teeth.

  From where we sat on our horses, the ground sloped downward into Carthage’s rich agricultural land, second only to Egypt’s in its production of fruits and grains. Huge farms and luxurious plantation manors stretched out for miles on the fertile plains of North Africa. Brilliant green fields of wheat, oats, and barley were interspersed with orchards of olives, figs, almonds, and pomegranates, and crisscrossed with intricate irrigation systems. The Romans were farmers who grew food for themselves. The Carthaginians were agriculturists whose harvests were targeted for export.

  Beyond the farmland, some ten miles off, was the concentration of walls and buildings that defined the city of Carthage. Farther off on the horizon stretched a narrow strip of aquamarine that was the Mediterranean Sea. With the sun low in the west, the entire expanse was tinted to the hue of a pale red wine.

  Masinissa watched me as I took in the view. “Carthage is noted for its two harbors. Can you see them? One is rectangular and the other circular.”

  “Yes, just barely.”

  “They are said to be the most advanced in the world. The rectangular one is dedicated to merchant ships and commerce. There’s a gate at its east end for access to the sea. A heavy iron chain can be drawn across the opening to seal it off from outside traffic. The circular harbor is for the Carthaginian navy. I’ve heard it’s three thousand feet in diameter. That elevated island in the center,” again he pointed, “is where the fleet admiral lives. The sea wall that surrounds the harbor has two hundred individual quays on the inside, with stone pillars at the entrance to each berth, creating a colonnade all the way around the harbor’s interior. It’s quite impressive.”

  It was difficult to see all that he described, but I had heard of the harbors before. I would use the spyglass to get a better look the next day when I did the surveying and no one would notice what I was doing.

  Masinissa climbed from his horse. “We’ll camp here for the night, and use this location as our base of operations tomorrow.”

  “One full day here should be all I need. Thank you, Masinissa, this is extremely helpful.”

  We made an open camp for the night. Several of the riders went hunting for our dinner and returned with three antelope and a wild boar. The meal was nothing short of a feast. I sat at one of the four campfires with Masinissa and fifteen of his men, gnawing on meat-laden bones and passing around a leather bota bag filled with fermented goat’s milk.

  Masinissa and I spoke in Greek, which none of the others could understand. He told me the remarkable story of his last few months. His uncle, Oezalces, who had replaced Masinissa’s father on the throne, died four months after his coronation at a time when Masinissa was in Spain. Oezalces’ eldest son, Capussa, took the throne. Mazaetullus, a man connected by blood to the royal family, immediately contested the crown and inspired a popular revolt against Capussa. In the ensuing uprising, Capussa was killed. Rather than taking the crown himself, Mazaetullus installed Capussa’s ten-year-old brother Lacumazes on the throne. Knowing that Masinissa would be infuriated by what had happened, Mazaetullus prepared himself for the prince’s return by enlisting the aid of Syphax with the promise of a large portion of the Maesulii kingdom.

  “I returned to find that my father’s kingdom had been stolen and that there was a price on my head.” Masinissa held an antelope shank in his right hand. He bit into it with the anger of his words and pulled free a huge piece of meat with his teeth. Talking and chewing, he told me of raising two armies to reclaim his land and being defeated twice by Syphax.

  “Following the second defeat, I got away with only thirty of my men and hid in the hills.” Masinissa shook his head, remembering the day. “Syphax ordered his most able officer, a man by name of Bucar, to seek me out with a contingent of five hundred foot soldiers and two hundred cavalry. They surprised us one morning at our camp in the hills. All but five of us were killed in the ambush. Bucar and his cavalry chased us across the open plain on horseback, gradually using their numbers to hem us in and direct us into a cul-de-sac formed by a bend in the Chelif River.” Masinissa spoke with such intensity it was difficult to tell if the flash in his eyes was a reflection from our campfire or the spark of his passion.

  “Bucar’s men killed two of mine with javelins during the chase. I received a bad wound in the leg. When we reached the river’s edge, it looked hopeless. The water ran fast and deep. With two hundred riders intent on making my head a trophy, we lashed our horses and leapt into the river.” Masinissa raised the shank above his head and shouted across the fire. Two men answered with a series of piercing yips, which set off a chorus of yips and whistles from around the other campfires.

  “Bucar assumed that we had all drowned. He returned to Syphax with the mutilated head of one of my men, claiming it was mine. Soon it was common knowledge that I was dead.” He nodded his head and grinned. “My men pulled me out of the river and hid me in a cave in the Atlas Mountains, where they nursed me back to health over a period of three weeks. Little by little, we gathered other men that were loyal to me. We began raiding Masaesyli villages, stealing horses and weapons.” He grinned again, lighting his eyes with the passion of his tribe.

  “Many of my people still believe I’m dead. I have made no effort to dispel that belief. Syphax will find out soon enough, and he won’t be pleased. The men you see here tonight are some of my closest friends.” The flames from the campfire lit his face. His eyes glowed like embers. His teeth flashed as he spoke. “I will use this loyal core to build yet another army, and if you ever have the ear of Laelius or Scipio, let them know I won’t give up until I have regained my kingdom.”

  Masinissa squirted some of the goat’s milk into his mouth, then handed the leather bag to me.

  “Timon, I have done a lot of talking about myself. Tell me something about yourself. What is deepest in your heart tonight?”

  I lifted the leather bag over my head and squirted a stream of the fermented milk into my mouth, then passed it on to the man beside me.

  The goat’s milk was stronger than the mulsum I was accustomed to, and though I had tried not to drink too much, I had. Without the drink, I would have said the deepest thing in my heart was geometry. I would have gone on about the numbers and Archimedes’ vision of the heavens. On this night, however, Masinissa’s question struck a deeper chord.

  “I’m in love with two women,” I said, an admission I had yet to make, even to myself.

  Masinissa’s face lit with affirmation, and he nodded. “Yes, yes, go on.”

  “One,” I said, “lives in Rome. Her hair is the color of sunlight and her eyes blue like the sky. She is sweet and kind, and like you, captured by the mystery of the forms and the figures. Her name is Sempronia. A name as lovely as she is.” I said it again. “Sem-pro-nia. But she is wealthy, and I am not. Her family is of the highest rank in Rome. I was once a slave.”

  Masinissa lifted his head, considering my words. “And the other?”

  “Her name is Moira. She’s a farm girl. A dark Sicilian with a fiery temper and a will of iron. While Sempronia is an ethereal, intelligent woman, Moira is the earth, as lovely and complex as life itself. She has no money, two children, and needs a man to help on her farm.” I reached into my tunic and withdrew a handful of the figs that I had brought with me. I opened my hand to Masinissa. “These come from her orchard.”

  He took several figs and put one in his mouth. “Almost as good as the figs we grow here,” he said as though that was the highest possible compliment. “And who will you choose?”

  I put a fig my mouth. “It may not be for me to choose. Sempronia’s mother won’t let her see me. And Moira is too proud to admit she might need me.”

  The prince laughed and tossed another fig in his mouth. “Given the choice, who would you take? What in a woman means the most to you?”

  “A month ago I would have said Sempronia. Tonight, I can’t say.” I tapped my chest. “Your question strikes me square in the heart, Masinissa. I just don’t kno
w who I would prefer.”

  “Become a Numidian,” he replied, gently giving my shoulder a shove. “Marry them both.” Then he burst into laughter. He called out something in his native language. The men around the fire laughed, presumably at me.

  Masinissa sobered and gathered my eyes. “I love but one woman, Timon,” he said, more serious than at any time I had seen him, even when addressing Laelius about the prospect of an invasion. “Her name is Sophonisba—as lovely a name as any there is,” he added, as though there might be a competition between us. “Her skin is pale as milk. Her hair as black as this night. Her eyes are the color of the sunlit sea and shine like some light originates behind them. I have seen her only once. A year ago. And unless I am horribly mistaken, she feels the same way about me.”

  “And will you marry her and make her your queen?”

  Masinissa stared at me in a way he hadn’t before. There was anger in it, a fierce glare. “She’s Hasdrubal Gisgo’s daughter. The wealthiest Carthaginian of them all. He could not have a blacker heart. He’s as much to blame for the problems I’m having now as Syphax. To affirm their dark alliance, Hadrubal is sure to offer his daughter to my gravest enemy.” He paused and stared into the flames. “Sophonisba can only be mine if the Romans defeat Carthage and I win back my kingdom. She is the plunder that I seek.”

  CHAPTER 41

  We rose with the sun the next morning. I began the day by using the spyglass to scan the area looking for prominent landmarks from which to begin the process of triangulation. When Masinissa saw me using the device, he asked me what it was. I was tempted to show him, but I decided against it. I told him it was an instrument I used for sighting that increased the accuracy of my measurements. He let it go at that, then gave orders to his men to help me with the day’s work.