"This is fascinating. I can see we shall have many enthralling discussions. Tell me, do your people still have their own kingdom, between Egypt and Seleucid Syria?"
The Romans are truly concerned about the power structure of the East, Zeno thought. Something must be happening there.
"Yes, the Hasmonean family clings to the kingdom of Judea. Egypt cares nothing for that part of the world anymore, and the Seleucids are too hard-pressed by the Parthiaris to give them much trouble."
"So your kingdom is strong and secure?"
"No longer my kingdom or my people," Izates said. "I'm more of an Alexandrian Greek, as Zeno says. But a man can't separate himself from his ancestry. The kingdom is beset by civil war, but that's an old story. When we are not united against an outside enemy, we fall to fighting among ourselves."
"Just like Greeks," Zeno said.
"Here we are. This is my house, which you are to regard as your own."
They stood before a blank wall that stretched in both directions for a considerable distance. They walked through the door into a spacious entrance hall dominated by a tall wooden chest. Before the chest was a bronze statue of a god, before which smoldered a small brazier. Gabinius took a pinch of incense from a box next to the brazier and dropped it onto the coals. His guests did the same.
"Is this your household god?" Zeno asked.
"This is Quirinus. He is our founder, Romulus, in deified form. This cabinet holds the wax death masks of my ancestors. My great-grandfather took them north on the exile and I have returned them home."
"Is this the home of your ancestors?" Zeno asked, looking around. Like most things in Rome, it looked and smelled new.
"There was little left but the foundations when we returned, but I have restored it exactly as it was. Most of us were able to locate our old homes. Our ancestors kept careful records of everything. Most especially of our lands and houses. This one has been in my family since Rome had kings."
They passed into a courtyard surrounding a pool in which a modest fountain played. The sides and bottom of the pool were lined with blue tiles lacking any design or ornament. The surrounding colonnade shaded the entrances to a number of rooms, but it held no sculptures. Instead, climbing plants were placed at intervals in large, earthenware pots. The vines had only begun to ascend the columns.
"We could use the triclinium," Gabinius said, "but the weather is so fine I suggest we eat out here. Does that suit you?"
"Admirably," Zeno assured him. "I can think of no lovelier setting."
"It is in excellent taste," Izates said grudgingly.
Gabinius smiled. "You mean it lacks any ornament? I know that you Greeks are fond of restraint. Actually, this place is just new, or rather newly restored. We could cart away little with us on the exile, and Hannibal's men took everything else. We Romans are rather fond of display and gaudy decoration. Come back in a few years and see whether you approve then."
Slaves brought out a table and chairs. "We recline only at banquets," Gabinius explained. "For ordinary meals we prefer to sit."
"Better for the digestion anyway," Izates said. "People shouldn't lie around like beached fish at a meal. Food was not meant to pass through the body horizontally."
They took chairs, and slaves brought ewers and basins to wash their hands. Cups were filled, and each splashed a bit onto the courtyard before drinking. The first course was hard-boiled eggs, and Gabinius explained that nearly every Roman meal began with eggs. They spoke of inconsequential matters through the simple dinner. The eggs were followed by grilled fish, then stewed lamb and, finally, fresh apples and pears. Throughput, platters of bread and cheese and bowls of oil and of a pungent fish sauce stood filled for the diner's use. When the plates were cleared away and the wine cups refilled, serious talk began.
"Why do you find Rome a fit subject for study?" Gabinius asked.
"Because the state seemed poised to take an important place on the world's stage when Hannibal eliminated it so abruptly. From obscure origins, Rome had thrust forth into importance in an incredibly short time. Its inhabitants and constitution showed every sign of destiny. Then all was cut short by Carthage. That much would rate a historical footnote.
"But over the years we received cryptic word of a new Rome in the North, busily subduing the barbarians. This was more interesting yet. Nations that have been crushed usually disappear. Now you have returned, seemingly stronger and more warlike than ever. This is most remarkable of all, an unprecedented thing. I want to know how it happened and, more importantly, I want to chronicle what happens next."
Gabinius nodded. "A laudable project. In my library are several histories of Rome, both pre-and post-exile. Please feel free to use them in your researches."
"You are more than generous," Zeno said.
"I wish to enlighten you about Rome. At the same time, I and other Romans have much to learn about this world we have reentered. Perhaps you can help me there."
"Gladly."
Zeno had no compunctions about supplying the Roman with information that might well be put to military use. Greece was a tributary of Macedonia and he regarded the Macedonians as no better than barbarians. Rome was the implacable enemy of Carthage, and Carthage had resisted the spread of Greek interests in the western Mediterranean. The Romans were brutal, but Carthage had become a byword for cruelty.
Gabinius told them of the great northward march; when the Romans took their household gods and sacred objects, their arms and whatever tools they could carry and sought a new home beyond the Alps. He told them of the hungry early years, of the resistance by native peoples, and of the Romans' ultimate victory. He told of Roman expansion year by year, and of how certain native nobles saw in the newcomers an opportunity for themselves.
"Since that time," Gabinius said, "we have spoken of the old families and the new families. Old families like my own date from the exile. New families are of northern origin."
"And they are full citizens?" Zeno asked, intrigued as always by this unique concept of citizenship.
"Certainly. Our Consul Norbanus, whom you saw leaving the Curia today, belongs to the most prestigious of the new families. They have been consulars for more than fifty years. His father and grandfather were consuls and a greatgrandfather was praetor shortly after the exile. He was a chieftain who understood that supporting Rome would make him far more than lord over a few hundred obstreperous savages."
It sounded too cozy and friendly for Zeno. No Greek could truly believe in political harmony on any profound level, and he remembered the shouting from inside the Curia. He sensed that there must be tension, jealousy and resentment between these new and old families.
In response to the Roman's questions, Zeno spoke of the situation in Greece, of the great coastal cities of Antioch, Sidon and Tyre, of the islands Cyprus and Rhodes. Gabinius asked Izates about Judea and its capital, Jerusalem. Zeno noticed that his friend was not asked about his native city, Alexandria, even though the capital of Egypt was perhaps the most important city on the sea.
He remembered reports he had heard that a Roman delegation had already visited that city. They've been sending reports to the Senate, he thought. This Roman already knows all he needs to know about Alexandria. The scope of Roman preparations was something far beyond his experience. They have just retaken Italy and already they are laying plans for world conquest. They will know exactly what they are doing and whom they will face when they start. Even Alexander made no such plans. He just bulled his way through with luck, charisma and a confidence in his enemy's weakness.
"Perhaps you can answer something for me," Zeno said hesitantly.
"You have but to ask," Gabinius told him.
"The world knows that you Romans are in the process of taking Sicily."
"We are taking it back," Gabinius corrected. "It was ours after the first war with Carthage, when we fought Hannibal's father there."
"To be sure. Yet, travelers hear many things and there is a story on the ships
and in the taverns all around the sea that a Roman force, a rather large one, accompanied the Shofet Hamilcar's expedition to Egypt. Yet now you are at war with Carthage. What has happened to that Roman army, last heard.of some distance down the Nile from Alexandria?"
Gabinius leaned back in his chair and seemed to consider this for a while. He gestured with his cup and a slave refilled it, then the others.
"Ah. This very question is getting to be something of a sore point in the Senate lately. You see, our two consuls for the year are Titus Norbanus and Quintus Scipio; one old family, one new. Each has a son. If you would understand the new Rome that has arisen here, then I must tell you about these two remarkable young men."
And so he began to speak to them of the younger Marcus Scipio, and of the younger Titus Norbanus.
CHAPTER THREE
The place was called Sinai. it might as well have been the realm of Dis or Pluto. To the Romans, accustomed to the verdant North, to beautiful Italy, it seemed like a place cursed by the gods. Their march from Carthage to Egypt, then down the Nile, had taken them only through cultivated land. The Nile Valley had been bordered by desert, but few of them had ridden out to see it. Now they had to cross this.
From horseback, Titus Norbanus surveyed the prospect. Despite the heat, he wore his lion-mask helmet. Beneath the fanged upper jaw his face was fair, straight-lined and handsome. His eyes were intensely blue. The desert was daunting, but Alexander and his soldiers had faced worse. He felt that he and Alexander had much in common.
"Fighting is one thing," Lentulus Niger said, "but this? Roman soldiers expect to fight. It's what they're best at. Not marching across sand and rock where the lizards have to take shelter from the sun."
"We've never faced anything like this," Cato agreed.
"Roman soldiers can do anything," Norbanus assured his subordinates. "Barbarians have lived here for generations. Can Romans not do anything barbarians can do?"
"Little bands of wretched nomads scurrying from waterhole to waterhole with a few goats may be able to live here, after a fashion," Cato allowed. "But we have more than forty thousand men, plus all their animals. How are we going to make it through to the cultivated lands?"
"We should have gone by sea," Niger said. "We could have commandeered the ships at Pelusium."
"Carthage controls the sea," Norbanus said patiently. "Even preoccupied with Sicily, there are enough Carthaginian warships prowling about to deal with some wallowing transports full of Roman soldiers. We would have to trust Greeks to handle the ships, and who can trust Greeks?"
"Still," Niger said, "to undertake a march like this without ships screening us and providing us with supplies as we go up the coast"—he made a gesture of futility—"it's courting disaster."
"Had we been able to march westward," Norbanus pointed out, "we would have done so. We discussed all this at our councils. Did you miss those discussions, Lentulus?"
Niger fumed. "That was before we had a look at this place."
Norbanus leaned on his saddle pommels. His subordinates lacked vision. That was why some men led and others followed. Men who would lead must have vision. Men who would be truly great must have great vision. That was what separated men like Alexander and him from the common run of men.
"For many centuries," he explained, "armies have crossed this desert to make war. Greeks, Syrians, Persians—they have all come this way to invade Egypt. The pharaohs crossed it the other way to take war to their enemies. None of them found this desert impassable."
"Maybe it rained more then," Cato said.
"And they went along the coast, supported by their ships," Niger maintained.
"We are no one's inferior when it comes to planning and preparation," Norbanus said. "Before we begin, we will gather all the forage we can cut and bring it along on wagons and on the backs of those smelly camels. We will bring water the same way, in bags. The men can carry all the rations they will require on their own backs. We can do this, and we will reach the other side in excellent shape. And we will march inland, away from the coast. I do not want to be observed by ships or seen from the coastal towns. I don't want anyone reporting to the shofet or to Queen Selene where we are."
"Why the secrecy?" Niger wanted to know.
"I like surprises," Norbanus said, smiling.
Marcus Scipio studied the model with a critical eye. It looked like nothing he had ever seen before. He doubted that anyone had ever seen such a thing. If it resembled anything else, it would have to be a bat, he decided. Its long, slender body was a framework of reeds thinner than arrow shafts, covered with a skin of parchment. Stretching from both sides were wings made of even thinner reeds, also covered with a skin of thinnest parchment. At its rear was a tail somewhat like a bird's.
"Where are the feathers?" Marcus asked.
"I tried attaching feathers," the young man said, "fancying that these somehow made birds lighter and facilitated their flight. But they did not improve things. But we know that bats have no feathers, yet they fly admirably. Insects have no feathers, yet many have wings, and some of these, particularly the dragonfly, are more agile in the air than even birds or bats." His name was Timonides and he spoke of his passion with single-minded intensity.
"I determined that the structure of the wings gave the power of flight. Wings take many forms, but those of birds and bats, whether made of feathers or skin and bone, share a common cross-section: semi-lenticular with a very fine, thin trailing edge. I experimented with this shape until I had a structure that would provide flight, but learned that it could not be controlled without a tail." He pointed at the triangular structure at the rear.
"This stabilized flight somewhat in the vertical plane, but flight was still very irregular in the horizontal. Finally I added this." He indicated a vertical fin protruding above the tail. "Birds do not have this structure, but it is very common in fish."
"You looked to fish for lessons in flight?" Marcus said, astonished.
"When you think of it, the swimming of fish shares many things in common with the flight of birds. Fish move through water instead of air, but propulsion and steering are much the same. This vertical fin also acts rather as a rudder does on a watercraft."
"I know how the underwater boats use those little wings to dive and surface," Marcus told him. "But when I heard you had plans for making men fly, I confess I pictured something like Icarus, with great, feathered wings that they could flap."
The young man shook his head. "That is a silly myth. Men are not built for such effort. Most of the strength of our bodies is below the waist, which is why men can run better than most animals, and soldiers can march bearing heavy burdens. By contrast, our upper bodies are weak. Look at how a bird is built. Its legs are scrawny, puny things. Even its wings have very little muscle. But the greater part of its body is composed of pectpral muscle, what we call the breast." For emphasis he rapped his knuckles on Marcus's breastplate, upon which the muscles in question had been sculpted in great detail and somewhat exaggerated size.
"Picture a man whose body is three-quarters pectoral muscle. Then you would have a human fit to fly like a bird."
"So how do the wings of this thing flap?" Marcus asked. "I see no mechanism for the purpose."
"They don't," Timonides admitted. "It will not fly in that way. It will glide and soar, as gulls and eagles do."
"Oh," Marcus said, disappointed. "I believe that will limit its usefulness. I'd had visions of winged soldiers descending upon the enemy like a great swarm of hawks swooping upon helpless chickens."
"Disappointed?" Timonides cried, outraged. "But this is marvelous! For the first time, a man will fly in the air without falling. It is something no one save a god has been able to do before!" He looked about apprehensively, then crossed the room to touch a statue of Hephaestus, god of inventors. "Not," he amended hastily, "that I in any way compare myself to the immortal gods."
"Of course, of course," Marcus said. "I did not mean to denigrate your research
. It is indeed wonderful. But spectacle and novelty are the things of peacetime. These times call for warlike applications." Peacetime was something he knew only in theory. War had been his whole life.
Timonides, in the fashion of Greeks, assumed a cunning look. "No military application? My dear General Scipio, do you consider an aerial view of your enemy's dispositions, his route of march, the approach of his fleet, to be useless? Consider that, with such devices, widely separated elements of your forces can stay in contact and the enemy cannot intercept your messengers."
"Hadn't thought of that," Marcus admitted. "Of course you're right. Fighting is only one aspect of warfare. Intelligence and communication are also crucial. Will your device be capable of such things?"
"Eminently," Timonides assured him. "Once I have a prototype machine built to full scale and have worked out the minutiae of maneuvering, you can have a fleet of them."
"You speak as if this maneuvering business will be simple to perfect."
The Greek shrugged eloquently. "We shall see. But I believe the principles must be quite simple. After all, who would have believed that vessels could travel underwater under human guidance? Yet the philosophers of this school proved that it could be done and you put them to work defending the city, which they did to great effect."
"Quite true. Very well, I shall tell the queen that your project merits full support. Make up your request for funding, supplies and personnel and I shall present it to Her Majesty at the next planning conference."
Timonides went to a table and took a scroll from a chest. "Already done," he said, handing over the scroll with a smile. "Among other things, I shall need some intelligent slaves to test the first full-sized prototypes. At least a dozen. Attrition may be high at first."
The Seven Hills Page 4
