Zama

by Dan Armstrong

  Syphax hung his head.

  “No chance of a change, Syphax? Are we wasting our time? Should you and I be preparing for battle, not treaties?”

  Syphax lifted his head and let out a great sigh. “Scipio, you are a man who is very hard to deny, but maybe there’s middle ground. Maybe this talk of an alliance with me should be one of peace between Rome and Carthage?”

  “How’s that?”

  “What if I act as a mediator between you and Carthage? It’s the same thing I offered when you and Hasdrubal were at my dinner table. Maybe I can broker an agreement. Wouldn’t peace be better for all involved—better than war? That’s what I want. That’s what’s best for Africa, my people, and my kingdom.”

  Scipio raised his fist to his lips, then spoke. “I feel certain of victory, Syphax. Carthage has no future. The only agreement I would consider is one that names Rome as the victor.”

  Syphax was no match for Scipio’s confidence. He took another sip from this cup. “If the Carthaginians agree to surrender, and order Hannibal and his brother Mago back to Carthage, would that be enough incentive for you to take your army back to Rome?”

  “That makes a fair starting place, Syphax,” answered Scipio. “But I believe Carthage must also pay an indemnity or an annual tribute. Prisoners on both sides must be released, and certain limitations must be placed on the size of the Carthaginian military.”

  “I’m in no position to make those kinds of concessions for Carthage. Hasdrubal and the Carthaginian elders must be consulted. Give me a chance to talk with them and perhaps we might come up with something.”

  “Very well. Tell the Carthaginians that we have opened a discussion for terms of peace. Explain my position. See how they react. Then we can talk again.”

  CHAPTER 75

  Syphax traveled to Carthage with a large armed guard the day after his meeting with Scipio. He arrived late in the day and stayed at Hasdrubal’s home in Megara as a guest. Although Sophonisba already occupied three rooms on the second floor, five more were given to Syphax and his accompanying slaves. Intoxicated by thoughts of spending the evening with his wife, Syphax spoke only briefly with his host about the potential peace agreement, then excused himself immediately after the evening meal.

  Syphax went directly to his suite of rooms and ordered the first chambermaid he saw to have Sophonisba, whom he had yet to see, come to his bedroom. He pulled off his clothing and lay on the bed naked, fully aroused just thinking about his wife. But she didn’t come to him right away or for a long time afterward. The king grew impatient. He sat up in the bed and screamed for Sophonisba. When this got no response, he put on his robe and stormed out of the room. Dealing with Scipio had pushed him to his limits, he wanted the reason for all this trouble in his arms—now!

  Syphax entered the women’s chambers without announcing himself. He was all set to vent his anger until he saw Sophonisba. She stood in the center of the room in a sheer white gown that was little more than invisible. Nycea stood behind her brushing the queen’s hair. Zanthia was across the room sorting through ribbons to give to Gaia, standing beside her. Felicia lay on the floor, her chin on her front paws. She lifted her head to appraise this man she had never met, then hissed and growled showing her teeth.

  “Quiet, Felicia,” commanded Sophonisba, then she turned to Syphax. “I’ll be right with you, my king. Please have patience with your queen. I wanted to look my best for you.” Although she smiled, she had no desire to see her husband at all.

  His anger dispelled, Syphax returned to the bedroom and paced anxiously in anticipation of Sophonisba’s arrival. After another long period of waiting, just as he was about to storm from the room for a second time, the door swung open. Sophonisba entered without a word, swayed across the room, and made herself available to him.

  When Syphax awakened in the morning, Sophonisba had already left the bed. His immediate reaction was again anger, then he reflected on the night that had passed. They had made love more than once, but Sophonisba had not displayed her usual passion. Instead of thinking something was wrong with her, he wondered if something had been lacking in him. He chose not to summon her back to the bedroom and ordered his slave to bring him something to eat.

  Later in the day, Syphax sought out Hasdrubal, and with no mention of Sophonisba, the two men spent the afternoon discussing the possibility of a peace agreement with Rome. Syphax pushed hard for a treaty, saying it was in the best interest of all of Africa, but Hasdrubal balked at Scipio’s desire to dictate the terms as victor of the war. He told Syphax he would discuss the subject with the Council of Elders and get back to him with the Council’s response.

  That night, when Sophonisba joined Syphax in bed, after another long wait, the king made a determined effort to bring greater pleasure to his wife, performing acts in which he might not otherwise engage. But the result was the same, and her physical indifference again caused doubts in the Numidian king.

  Perplexed, and suffering from a lover’s woes, Syphax spent the next morning pacing from one to room to another not knowing what to do, now more obsessed with Sophonisba’s attention than he had been before.

  Vangue did not miss Syphax’s distress. He sought out Nycea and pulled her aside that afternoon. “Nycea, how would you like to be Sophonisba’s handmaiden?”

  Nycea feared Vangue and cowered at his words. “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to tell Syphax about last week’s intruder. I’ll take you to him. Tell him all you know. It will result in something good for both of us.”

  Nycea was a pretty young woman in her own right. Her aspirations were for something more than being a maid. Syphax was known to tire of his wives. She, like Scipio, didn’t believe his infatuation with Sophonisba would last. Nycea hoped that the king might find her a suitable replacement when he grew bored with the high strung queen. She looked around as though afraid someone else might be listening, then said, “Take me to Syphax.”

  Vangue went to Syphax on his own first. He told him that there had been an intruder during the previous week and that Hasdrubal had sought to hide it from him. He knew little of it personally, but one of Sophonisba’s maids had seen the intruder. He thought Syphax should talk to her. Syphax found this information highly unsettling and immediately wanted to know more, wondering if this could be connected in any way to Sophonisba’s recent distance.

  Vangue brought Nycea to Syphax’s room. She fell to her knees at his feet.

  “Tell me what you know about the intruder,” demanded the king.

  Nycea glanced at Vangue, then told her story. “A man climbed onto the balcony outside Sophonisba’s room. I saw him and screamed. The guards didn’t catch the man, but later on, I overhead a conversation between Sophonisba and her handmaiden Zanthia. Sophonisba confided that she had seen the man and had recognized him.”

  Syphax tilted his head. “Go on.”

  “I heard her tell Zanthia it was Masinissa.”

  Syphax’s face darkened with rage. “What does she know of this man?”

  “They met once, well more than a year ago. Her handmaiden spoke highly of him, and Sophonisba took it to heart. She has longed to know the man better ever since.”

  “But there’s nothing more than that? A longing?”

  “Not as far as I know, Your Majesty.”

  “And when Sophonisba confided in her handmaiden, did the maid continue with her praise of the man?”

  “I believe she did,” lied Nycea. “Zanthia has no respect for you or your marriage to Sophonisba.”

  “And why do you tell me this? Such a confidence might cost you your position.”

  “My high regard for you, Your Majesty. I am Numidian. My respect for you is greater than my loyalty to the queen.”

  Syphax was more disturbed by this news than he wanted to show. He turned away from Nycea and went to the room’s window to stare at the sky and collect his thoughts. After a moment, he faced her. “Don’t mention the conversation we’ve just had to anyon
e.” He moved up close to her and touched her cheek with his hand. “It would be valuable to me to have ears in the queen’s chambers. Very valuable. What’s your name?”

  “Nycea, Your Majesty.”

  Syphax smiled. “I will be here one more night, Nycea. Let’s talk again before I leave.”

  After Nycea had left the room, Syphax turned to Vangue. “The same to you, slave. Keep this quiet, and for your trouble I will buy your freedom from Hasdrubal and make you my personal attendant.”

  Syphax now appraised his time with Sophonisba from a completely different perspective. Another man had tried to intrude upon him. His conflict was not with Sophonisba. She was but a woman. Besides he still found tremendous pleasure in bedding a woman all men would want, yet whose intimacy only he had known. His fight was with the intruder, Masinissa, and there was only one possible outcome. Syphax promised himself that he would kill Masinissa with his own hands. Should the war continue, it would be on the battlefield. Should there be peace, it would be anywhere he could find him. And once the interloper was dead and gone—for good this time, he, the King of Numidia, would certainly be able to rekindle the passion in Sophonisba that made her such a treasure.

  Syphax returned to his camp the following day with permission from the Council of Elders to continue talks with Scipio. Before leaving, he had Hasdrubal arrange for a squadron of Carthaginian warships to take Sophonisba back to Siga. Hasdrubal suspected that Syphax had learned about the intruder from Sophonisba, but he didn’t ask, and Syphax offered no explanation for sending his wife away. Neither did he say anything about the brooding hatred he now felt for Masinissa.

  CHAPTER 76

  Two days later, Scipio received word from Syphax that he was ready to talk again. Scipio sent Marcus Ralla with an escort of four soldiers to Syphax’s camp the following morning. I was in headquarters when Ralla returned that afternoon. Scipio debriefed him immediately. Lucius was also present.

  “Did Syphax have the Carthaginian’s response to my terms for peace?” I couldn’t believe Scipio really expected or even wanted them to surrender. He was more interested in drawing Hannibal back to Africa and defeating him on the battlefield than immediate peace. He wanted glory, not surrender.

  “They are quite willing to call both Hannibal and his brother back to Africa,” said Ralla. “And they offered to make a one time indemnity payment for the cost of the war, instead of an annual tribute. But they resisted any effort to limit the size of their military.”

  Scipio looked at his brother. “What do you think?”

  “I’m surprised. They’re actually admitting that they have lost the war.”

  “But it’s not enough,” replied Scipio. “I want a full capitulation. The military must be restricted. And I want an annual tribute, not a single payment. It keeps them under our thumb.” Scipio turned to Ralla. “Is it worth going back to Syphax simply to deny their counter offer?”

  “We can learn how much they really want peace.”

  Scipio nodded, seemingly uninterested. “Anything else, Tribune? Could you make any appraisal of their troops?”

  “Both camps seemed quite primitive. The Carthaginians have built their make-shift shelters with wood and woven reeds instead of using leather or canvas. The Numidian camp isn’t much different. All they have are little huts of thatch in the shape of beehives.”

  “It seems like that puts them at risk for fire,” said Lucius.

  Scipio shook his head at his enemies’ ineptitude, then seemed to pause in his thinking. “Maybe you should go back again, Tribune. I’d like to know more about their camps and their numbers. Take two of your best centurions. Have them dress as slaves. Have them snoop around a bit.”

  “Should I repeat the initial offer?”

  “No,” said Scipio, clearly turning things over in his head. “Suggest that we are flexible on the indemnity and the way that it’s paid. Hold tight on limiting the military, but be willing to take a counter offer. Draw the process out a few more meetings and learn what you can. Who knows what we might do if these peace talks stall.”

  After Ralla was dismissed, Lucius addressed Scipio. “If the peace talks stall, who knows? What are you thinking?”

  Scipio leveled his eyes at his brother, a brother he was very close to. “I have an idea, Lucius. Let’s see what more we learn about their camps, then we can talk about it.”

  During this period of negotiation, I continued to work on the maps, but for the most part, things were slow and most of my thoughts were about my mother.

  Late one afternoon, I returned to my tent unit to help with the preparation of the evening meal. Troglius, Rullo, and two other tent mates were playing dice in the dirt out front of the tent. The dice belonged to Rullo, and as I later discovered, he had been organizing these dice games once or twice a week. To the chagrin of the older soldiers, the boy had shown a knack for winning.

  Rullo noticed me as soon as I walked up to the little circle he had drawn in the dirt. “Timon, do you have a few spare coins to lose?”

  The others looked up at me through the eyes of losers, finding nothing funny in Rullo’s confidence.

  I fished a few asses from the pocket of my tunic and showed them to Rullo. “This enough to get into your game?”

  “We turn away no one with money. Sit down and join us.” The sixteen-year-old shook the dice in his fist and dared a little grin.

  I knelt down at the edge of the circle between Troglius and another soldier, Aurelius, then piled my little stack of coins on the ground in front of me. “What’s the game?”

  “Craps. Two dice. Camp rules. If the shooter’s first throw is a seven or an eleven, it’s an automatic winner. If the first throw is double sixes or snake-eyes, it’s an automatic loser. If the first throw is some other result, the shooter must match that throw before throwing a seven to win—otherwise he loses. The shooter must bet to win, but the others can bet either way on his throw.”

  “Good enough. Give me a chance with those dice.”

  Rullo, who seemed to be in far more control of the game than was healthy, reached across the circle and dropped the two crude cubes in my hand.

  When I looked at them, Rullo said, “I made them myself.”

  I turned to my left. “Are they fair, Troglius?”

  Troglius looked at me with one eye while the other diverted to Rullo, who didn’t seem too happy with my question. Troglius shrugged.

  “What do you say, Aurelius?”

  “Not to me,” said the soldier, a veteran, maybe thirty-five years old, with a wide, severely pock-marked face.

  “Then let’s see what they hold for me.” I pushed an as into the circle. Rullo, acting as the bank, matched it. The others waited for the outcome of my first roll. I shook the dice in my hand and tossed them into the center of the circle. They bounced and jumped across the dirt, stopping with a five and a three uppermost. I would have to roll an eight before I rolled a seven to win.

  Troglius put down two asses on my winning. Aurelius and the other man went the other way, betting against me. I shook the dice and threw them into the circle, a four and a one. No winner, no loser. I rolled again. A five and a four. Again no winner, no loser. The next roll was a five and a two. Troglius and I lost our bets, the others won. I also lost the roll.

  I stayed around long enough to lose six asses, then dropped out of the game. Troglius had already lost all his money. He left the circle at the same time I did and got out his whetstone to sharpen his gladius—something he did all the time. I sat down beside him. Neither of us said anything. Had I sat there a full week, Troglius might never have said a word. Troglius was simply not given to talk. Some imagined him dumb because of this, but I had known him long enough to know that wasn’t true.

  I broke the silence. “How’s Rullo doing with military life?”

  Troglius continued to strop his gladius, which he kept as sharp as an eagle’s eye. “Better than most.”

  “What do you mean?”

&nbs
p; “You saw him with the dice just now. He doesn’t need anyone watching over him. He’s won everyone’s money in our unit and the one next to ours.”

  I laughed. “Yes, I guess he doesn’t need much help here in camp, but on the battlefield he’ll be tested in other ways.”

  Troglius stopped stropping and aimed his right eye at me. “I’m teaching him to use a gladius.” He lifted his and inspected its blade. “He’s good. And he is stronger than you might think.”

  I nodded. “He’s Marcus Claudius’ son by a slave—an Insubrian. You can see it in his hair color and his size. He’s already taller than his father.”

  Troglius tilted his huge head and turned his left eye in my direction. I had learned that he used each eye for specific types of responses.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I expect he might have the temperament of a soldier. Don’t tell anyone I told you this. I’m not even sure if Rullo knows.”

  Troglius looked over his shoulder at Rullo, then leaned in close to me. “What’s more astounding is he’s not yet seventeen.”

  “He told you that?”

  “And not to tell anyone else.”

  I laughed. “But you just told me.”

  He swung the other eye at me. “Telling you is not the same as telling anyone.”