The two stood atop Norbanus's command tower, overseeing the combat. The battle had been joined about an hour earlier, beginning with an exchange of arrows, javelins and sling-stones. These preliminaries had caused casualties only among the light-armed native troops. Roman shields and armor were proof against all such trifles.
They had found Manasseh and his army toward the southern edge of the plain called Megiddo: a natural battlefield where countless engagements had been fought. Besides the Jews, it had seen the armies of Egypt, the Hittites, Persians and Greeks clash and fall. Manasseh's army was larger, but it held no Romans. Most important, his Parthian allies had not arrived yet. When he deemed the time propitious, Norbanus had committed his legions, and the cohorts strode forth to hurl their murderous pila and draw their short, razor-edged swords. The cavalry of both sides were quickly engaged on the flanks and the dust rose.
"How can we control an army we can't see?" Jonathan asked plaintively.
"We can't. In a fight like this, the general's task is done in making his dispositions and giving his commands. Now it is a soldier's battle. The junior officers and the centurions will handle their own individual parts of the fight. This is where Roman training and drill pay off. Our legionaries can win a battle with all their commanders dead."
"I see," Jonathan said without conviction.
From the cloud before them, above the sounds of clashing metal and wood and the meaty smack of weapons against unprotected flesh, they could hear the blare and snarl of Roman trumpets. Unable to see, Norbanus could follow the progress of the fight as officers closer to the action directed their trumpeters, calling some cohorts back, sending others forward, closing up lines or putting them in extended order to take advantage of momentary weaknesses in the enemy formations.
"That's a bit risky," Norbanus noted.
"What?"
"Niger just wheeled his second cohort to catch the left flanking corner of Manasseh's formation. He must see an opportunity there. I hope he knows what he's doing. It wasn't in the battle plan."
"You can tell all that from the tooting of a trumpet?"
"It's as plain as speech once your ear is accustomed to it."
"You allow your subordinates such license?"
"Of course. Rigid adherence to a battle plan in spite of changing conditions is folly. He may have won the battle for us, in which case I'll decorate him. If it's a blunder, I'll have his hide for a shield cover."
Jonathan sweated. "This is maddening. We can do nothing, know nothing."
"We still have them," Norbanus said, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder. Behind the command tower an entire legion sat on the ground, resting, ready for battle at an instant's-notice.
"Why do you keep so many out of the fight when we are outnumbered to begin with?"
Norbanus hid his impatience. He hated dealing with amateurs. "They are my reserve. At any given time, only the front-line soldiers do any actual fighting. To commit everyone at once merely tires them out without accomplishing anything. They might as well stay to the rear and husband their strength. Should I see an opportunity or a great danger, I have them ready to meet the situation without having to disengage them from the battle first. It's the best way."
"Of course," Jonathan muttered. "It is just—Manasseh has so many men."
"And they are all out there, most of them able to do nothing except wave their arms and shout. They are getting very tired, I assure you." He was not as sanguine as he pretended. It was indeed wearing on the nerves to hear a battle without being able to see it clearly. He took great comfort from the presence of that legion behind him. Should the situation prove disastrous, they would extricate him and the bulk of his Romans from the fight.
He was not pessimistic, but anything could happen. He knew the story of Xenophon, who had been in a situation very much like this. His Greeks had won their part of the battle, but their Persian ally lost his part and the Greeks were forced to make their epic march to the sea. Norbanus's confidence in his legions was absolute. His confidence in Jonathan's forces was slight.
And, he thought, where were the Parthians? They could appear at any time, and there were few more disastrous occurrences than the sudden advent of enemy reinforcements after Roman forces were already committed to battle. But then, he thought further, the whole Manasseh-Parthian alliance might be nothing more than a rumor.
He shook these unproductive thoughts from his head and returned his attention to the battle before him, or as much as he could see of it. He cursed the dust once again.
Gabinius relaxed in the courtyard of his ancestral home, enjoying the cool of the evening. The house was new, but it felt right. He was where he should be. He heard a small commotion from the atrium. A visitor, no doubt. A man of his importance received guests at all hours: clients in need of a favor, friends from other towns come to claim hospitality. His steward entered the courtyard.
"Princeps, a lictor has come to summon you to the curia."
"Good news or bad?"
"He would say no more than that you are summoned."
Gabinius rose. "Lictors. How they love their little secrets." He knew that it had to be something momentous for a Senate meeting to be called after sunset. Even the news of the disastrous fire in the harbor at Carthage had waited until morning. It had been by no means a decisive blow to Hamilcar, but it bought the Romans time, and time was what they needed. They were conquering too much, too fast. How long will the gods bless us in this fashion? he wondered.
His fellow senators milled on the curia steps, some of them looking a bit tipsy from their after-dinner drinking. At the summons of another lictor, they filed inside. The nearby forum began to fill as word spread of the extraordinary meeting.
Inside, they took their benches. The consuls were already in place. When the doors shut, the Consul Scipio stood and raised over his head a broad wooden tablet of traditional design, the letters SPQR blazoned on it in large, gilt letters. A laurel wreath encircled the tablet. A hiss of satisfaction went up from the assembly. Laureled dispatches meant victory.
"Syracuse has fallen!" Scipio announced, producing a general uproar. "Sicily is ours!"
When the cacophony died down, Scipio read the terse message. "The Proconsul Titus Scaeva sends greetings to the noble Senate. On this day, the nineteenth of Quinctilis, the city of Syracuse passed into the possession of Rome. About the middle of the second hour the undermining operations I had pursued bore fruit and a large section of the northern city wall collapsed. I immediately ordered my legions into the breach. The Carthaginians and their citizen allies fought with desperation, but they were lost when they had to face Roman soldiers at close quarters. The fighting was street-by-street and ended in the square surrounding the great temple of Zeus. Resistance ended by the seventh hour, and the inhabitants were put to the sword to let all foreigners know the price of resistance to Rome. At sundown I signaled a halt to the slaughter. In coming days I will render the noble Senate an accounting of the plunder of this very rich city. Death to Carthage. Long live Rome."
The Consul Norbanus stood. "I propose, pending a full report from both the Proconsul Scaeva and the Senate's observers in Sicily, that Titus Scaeva be voted the right to celebrate a triumph. I further propose that he be awarded the title 'Siculus' in honor of his conquest of Sicily."
Amid further cheering Gabinius made his way to the consuls' dais. Norbanus noticed him first. "I see from the princeps's sour look that even this wonderful news fails to elate him."
"Oh, I am quite elated," Gabinius assured him. "I'd always rather hear of victory than defeat. But has anyone given thought to what we are going to do with Sicily?"
"Do?" Norbanus said. "We are going to divide it up, naturally. That's what you do with conquered territory."
"And who's to get it, eh?" Gabinius asked. "You've read Cyclops's reports: The land is unbelievably rich and fertile, better than Campania. Are we to have the whole Senate at each other's throat over who gets what piece of thi
s prize?"
"There is danger there," said the Consul Scipio. "What are your thoughts, Princeps?"
"Right now we are all a bit drunk with success and with favorable omens. A good drunk is always followed by a bad hangover. Even if we are fully successful in every campaign we undertake, there may be serious consequences. Foreigners are not the only enemy. We've expanded our legions to unprecedented numbers. What will we do with them when Carthage is destroyed and the fighting is over? Has anyone considered that?"
"They will go back home," Norbanus said uneasily.
"They will not," Gabinius assured him. "They came to Italy as farm lads and tribesmen of Noricum. Now they have seen the riches of the civilized world. Before this is over, they will have campaigned not just in Italy and Sicily, but in Africa, Egypt, Syria and the whole East. A common trooper will win more loot in a day than his father and grandfather saw in their lifetimes of toil.
"And these wars," he went on pitilessly, "will not be over soon. These early victories have come easily because nobody expected our arrival and they underestimated our strength. That will not last. Soon there will be alliances against us. Already we are looking at danger from Spain. Young Norbanus is stirring up a hornet's nest in Judea. Macedonia is watching us with alarm. We'll never be safe until we've conquered all the lands that border the sea, and that will be the work of many years. We are raising a generation of men who have no trade save war. In time they will be a great danger to the state."
"I take it you have some sort of suggestion," Norbanus grumbled.
"Exactly. Senatorial families already claimed most of Italy and there has been no little strife over conflicting claims. The new lands we are taking have no ancestral claims on them. Let's set aside some of them right now as reward for the soldiers when they are demobilized. Otherwise, the soldiers will not want to leave the profession of arms, since it will be their only source of livelihood. But with the prospects of rich farms and slaves to work their land, they'll be eager to trade the rigors of continuous campaigning for the life of gentlemen planters."
"That won't be easy," Scipio said. "Look at them." He gestured to the ebullient house. "Some of them are already in ecstasies of greed at the prospect of these Sicilian lands. They won't want to see them pass into the hands of common soldiers." He rapped his knuckles on the armrest of his curule chair. "I'll speak with the tribunes of the people. They can start groundwork for passing a new agrarian law. Maybe at first it will be best to declare the new conquests public land to keep it out of the hands of the major aristocrats. Later they can agitate for its distribution to veterans."
"That will do for a start," Gabinius said.
"You enjoy croaking of doom in the midst of celebration, don't you?" Norbaniis said.
Gabinius gave them a lipless smile. "Ironic, isn't it? All this success may yet prove to be the ruin of us."
The huge legionary camp stood upon the plain of Megiddo, site of the recent battle. It was greatly expanded, for the Romans had acquired many horses and no small accumulation of loot. Near the Romans, King Jonathan's men were encamped in less orderly fashion. They had the task of guarding the prisoners.
Near the center of the Roman camp stood the praetorium. It had been the royal tent of the late King Manasseh, but Norbanus had appropriated it for his own use. Far more sumptuous than his previous campaigning tent, it had room for the twin princesses who had become a part of his following. For three successive nights since the battle, it had been the scene of a victory banquet.
Manasseh had been defeated rather handily, the Roman discipline and superiority of small unit commanders being crucial in conditions that discouraged close overall command. After long and brave resistance, Manasseh's men had finally cracked, dismayed by the iron fortitude of the Romans. Once their lines lost cohesion and men began to break away and run in panic, the slaughter was fearful. Those not caught by the legionaries or the light-armed pursuers were ridden down and lanced by Jonathan's, cavalry.
Manasseh was killed trying to rally his soldiers, and with their king dead, his whole cavalry force had surrendered en masse and pledged themselves to Jonathan, before the Romans could reach them. As these were all wellborn young men, Jonathan had accepted their oath and put them under his protection, unlike the common foot soldiers of Manasseh's army, who died in droves.
At the first night's banquet, the king of the newly united kingdom of Judea and Israel had been ebullient, flushed with success. The general hilarity and good fellowship was only marred when Norbanus had Manasseh's head delivered to him on a platter between courses. This violated some rule of local decorum, and Jonathan had insisted that his defeated rival be buried with the proper rites. He explained that he could incur divine displeasure by neglecting this duty. Norbanus complied cheerfully. It cost him nothing. Manasseh's was. not the head he longed to see on a platter before him.
The second night, the king had been cheerful. Now, on the third night of banqueting, he was thoughtful, even apprehensive.
"Titus, my friend," he said, "I am sole king now, and for this I shall always be grateful for your invaluable assistance. However, it is time that I see to the ordering of my country."
"And so you shall," Norbanus assured him. "I think what is in order first is a progress through your newly acquired northern province of Israel. Your people must see you and grow used to the idea that you are now their sole king. Since we must march northward as well, it is fitting that you accompany us, so that anyone of a seditious disposition can see just what they face should they ever have subversive thoughts."
"And this way we can make a proper leave-taking when we pass from your kingdom," said Lentulus Niger.
Jonathan forced a smile. "Excellent." He understood now For all practical purposes he was a prisoner until the Romans marched away, an event he was beginning to anticipate with some pleasure. What suspicious people, he thought. They were not at all the unsophisticated brutes he had thought them at first.
"Cheer up," Cato said, grinning. "You are a Friend and Ally of Rome now. From now on, you and your descendants can petition the Senate for assistance anytime you are threatened by enemies. And Rome will come to your aid, every time. We are the best allies in the world. We never leave a friend in the lurch."
"I shall prize the friendship of Rome always." He knew that this was true. As long as he stayed faithful to Rome, he would have those incredible legions at his call. He realized something else: He had surrendered control of his own foreign policy. From now on, his policy had to be in accord with Rome's. This was the bargain he had made to become sole king.
Two days later they were traveling north when the Parthians arrived.
The legions, accompanied by their allies and a horde of camp followers, moved briskly along the road that led to the Syrian border. At least, the Romans marched at their usual pace. Many of the legionaries were now mounted, but they restrained their horses to the speed of the footmen. The allies hurried to keep up and the camp followers straggled along for miles.
They did not at first see the approaching Parthians. What they saw instead was an immense column of dust ascending skyward miles before them. Norbanus called a halt and summoned his commanders. Together with Jonathan and his principal officers they studied the alarming prodigy.
"How many horses does it take to raise such a cloud?" Lentulus Niger wanted to know.
"It isn't the number of horses," said Lemuel, commander of Jonathan's cavalry. "It's how they are ridden. There are at least as many horsemen over there as we have here, but they are not ambling along. They are coming at a fast canter. They will be here soon."
"Signal battle formation," Norbanus said. "In close order, then sound 'prepare to receive cavalry.' Be ready to order a testudo. These Parthians are said to favor the bow:"
"What about all these horses?" Cato asked.
"We can't use them effectively yet. Take them all to the rear, except for the cavalry. Jonathan, I want your horsemen on our flanks. You stay close by me.
They may ask for parley and you are king here."
Jonathan nodded. "They approach boldly. Are they eager for battle, or just anxious to meet up with Manasseh's army before battle is joined?" The Parthians could not know of the disaster Manasseh had met. Jonathan's riders had pursued and killed every horseman who tried to escape the debacle.
"They shall find a situation very different from that which they anticipated," Norbanus said. "I think they will wish to consider their options before committing themselves to action." Behind them the trumpets sounded and the legions went from marching order to battle formation with their usual efficiency.
An hour later the dust cloud was very near, and they began to see the glitter of metal in the dimness. The lead elements appeared: a great double file that wheeled right and left as the Parthians came in sight of the legions. Other formations behind them split likewise, and the dust began to settle as the horses slowed to a trot.
"Watch how far they extend their line," Jonathan cautioned. "If they form a great mass in front of us, they will want to talk. If they keep extending around our flanks, they are going for a surround and we can expect arrows momentarily."
Norbanus nodded, approving of both Jonathan's advice and his calm. He was not nervous, as at the earlier battle. He had confidence in his new allies. For his own part, Norbanus had little apprehension. Romans did not fear arrows, and cavalry could not break disciplined infantry. Still, he was ready for anything. These Parthians were something new, and they might know tricks and stratagems the Romans had never encountered.
Some of the horsemen before them were heavily armored and carried long lances, but most were archers, with light armor or none at all. All rode like men born on horseback. Only the very best Roman riders looked so natural in the saddle. In short order, the Parthians formed a mass perhaps five hundred yards in length, many lines deep. A small group rode forward, halting halfway between the two armies.
"It's talk," Norbanus said. "Are they likely to attempt treachery?"
The Seven Hills Page 15
