"What of it?" Flaccus asked. "We now have armies spread out over vast distances. Our generals will be nearly autonomous of necessity, whatever the Senate wants. What's sitting in Rome right now is an elderly pack of old soldiers reminiscing about their younger days when Roman soldiers were real Romans. They think what we're doing is the same as fighting German tribesmen on the Northern Sea."
Marcus was silent for a while. "No, we can't do it."
"What? Keep in contact with Norbanus's army?"
"No, that's an excellent idea. I mean we can't subvert these prophetesses or whatever they are."
"Whyever not? The opportunity is there. Norbanus is your enemy. Do something to him before he does it to you. It's the sensible thing to do."
"Should I endanger Rome for the sake of a personal vendetta? My sabotage might result in a Roman defeat. It's not something I can do just to trump a man I detest."
Flaccus sighed. "Marcus, you are a splendid soldier. You are a genuine visionary. But you are a political infant. To defeat a rival, you use whatever comes to hand. These Judean woman are a gift from the gods which you spurn at your peril."
"Still, I reject them. Let the gods punish me for rejecting their favor."
At this Flaccus held his counsel.
The next morning they were at the naval shipyard, which had been all but taken over by the Archimedean school. There were vessels under construction and on the slips and in the water that were unlike anything ever seen before.
There were also many craft of foreign design brought by the queen's order from the most distant waters. Their hull and sail designs were copied, analyzed and experimented with.
"What about that madman with the steam project?" Scipio asked the ship philosopher, head of the facility. He was a Spanish Greek named Archelaus.
"Worthless," he said. "He's trying to adapt it to water wheels and screw-type water raisers using a system of metal tubes and rods and sliding cylinders, but it can't possibly work."
"Why not?" Scipio asked.
"Two reasons. One is the weight. Even if the machine can be made to work, it will require a great weight of metal. Another is the fire. The last thing you want on a ship is a big fire. And you'd have to go ashore constantly to replenish the firewood. No, it has no real advantage over rowers, who need nothing but food."
"Well, what else, then? I know we've been concentrating on coastal warships and harbor defense, but I need a cutter that can cover great distances on open water fast. It can't carry a lot of rowers. I don't want it putting in to shore every day or two. It should keep on the move every hour, even traveling at night."
"That's a challenge. What is it to carry?"
"Aside from sustenance for the crew, just information. I want the water equivalent of a horseback courier. It's to keep me in contact with an army that will be constantly on the march."
Archelaus nodded, stroking his small beard. "I see. How intriguing. And how fortuitous. Come with me."
The two Romans followed the man. He led them past a barge-like boat, its deck holding a number of the flying machines and equipped with a system of towering masts from which to launch them. Other ships were fitted with paddle wheels, with varying arrangements of cranks and treadmills to drive them. They came to a pier to which were fastened several small vessels featuring a bewildering array of masts, yards and sails.
"Here," Archelaus informed them, "we experiment with new sail plans and rigging systems."
"And how do these affect performance?" Flaccus asked.
"In many ways, we have found. We've been using a single, large, square sail spread before the mast since the Argo. With a wind astern, it moves the ship well. But only if the wind is from almost directly astern."
"That much we know from our admittedly limited seafaring experience," Flaccus said. "How may it be done otherwise?"
"Look at this." They came to a small, narrow vessel. It was no more than forty feet long and had the familiar, single mast. But its yard, instead of being set square across the length of the vessel, slanted across it. "You can't get a good idea from this; you'll have to see it sailing. It's copied from a type of ship used off the coast of India. One of our skippers brought one back this season, along with some Indian sailors to show us how it is employed."
"What is its advantage?" Marcus wanted to know.
"It can make use of a wind that is not blowing from directly astern. With skill, using both sail and steering oar, it can even make use of a wind that comes from slightly ahead."
"Sail into a headwind?" Flaccus said. "That makes no sense."
"As I said, you'll have to see it demonstrated. It takes a skilled crew, but it needs only five or six men. We built this one small, because it was to be used just for experiment with the sail. There's no cargo space and precious little for the crew. But it may be ideal for your purpose. If all you want is a courier, this is it."
"Show us," Marcus said.
And so the little vessel set out with its small crew and two Romans, first in the sheltered waters of the harbor, then past Point Lochias into the open sea. All morning and into the afternoon the shipmaster, a hard-bitten old pirate from Cilicia, and his crew of strange men from fabled India, demonstrated the bizarre sail and its seemingly unnatural capabilities. It proved to be triangular, and when set, its extremely long yard almost touched the bow rail on one side of the ship, while the opposite end towered above the stern on the opposite side. It was huge in proportion to the vessel, and the Romans remarked upon this.
"It's a lot of mast and sail for such a small ship," the master agreed. "She has to be heavily ballasted to keep her from capsizing. Her bottom's filled with lead bricks to keep her upright."
He showed them how, by a combination of slanting the sail and working the steering oar, the ship could take advantage of a less-than-favorable wind. After taking the wind from one side for a while, at the master's order the crew performed a breathtaking maneuver, collapsing the sail and slewing the long yard up and across to hang on the other side of the mast and take the same wind from that side. The ship changed direction, but its general trend was still in the direction desired.
"You see?" the skipper said. "When the wind's not right, you travel in a series of zigzags to keep moving ahead. It's not as fast as with a stern wind, but it beats sitting on shore and sacrificing rams for one."
"What about a wind from directly ahead?" Marcus asked.
"Not much you can do about that," the skipper admitted. "This sail's clever, but it's not magical. Still, if you want to get from one end of the sea to the other and you don't want to feed a lot of oarsmen doing it, this rig will beat anything else afloat."
By the time they returned to the harbor, Marcus had decided. The little vessel would be the first of his new fleet of courier craft. As soon as he set foot to the pier, he was bellowing for the master shipbuilder, the harbormaster and the ship philosopher. He said that he wanted twenty of the ships for a start, and training of the crews was to begin immediately, that very day. He named the little ship Hermes. There was no argument. Functionaries and workmen had grown accustomed to the peremptory ways of the Romans.
"And get some paint on that ship," Flaccus said, pointing to Hermes. "She's plain as a fishing boat."
"Any color in particular?" asked the master shipbuilder dryly.
The Romans considered this. "I think blue would be good," said Flaccus.
Scipio nodded. "Blue with gold trim. Paint all our courier vessels that way. And dye the sails blue as well. Can you do that?"
The master shipbuilder rolled his eyes skyward. "As long as you don't insist on Tyrian purple, I think we can manage."
"What about a device?" Marcus mused. "Our new Roman navy uses Jupiter's eagle, but the queen might resent that. What's that sea-horse thing?"
"The hippocampus, you mean?" Flaccus asked. "The front part of a horse and a long fish-tail behind?"
"That's it. Master shipbuilder, decorate the sails with the hippocampus, and carve them
as figureheads, above where the ram would be, if these ships had rams."
"It shall be done," promised the official.
Pleased with their day's work, the Romans returned to the palace. A steward summoned them to the queen's presence. They found her waiting in her privy chamber next to the throne room. She frowned when she saw Marcus.
"Where is the helmet I gave you?"
"It suffered some damage," he told her. "The armorer and the jeweler are working on it now."
"Must you practice at swords in your best dress uniform?" she asked, exasperated. "Well, never mind. Just make the best show you can. We are going to perform before the court. I am going out there now. You be ready to come at my summons." Amid a flurry of serving girls and fan wavers, she strode out into the vast room and took her seat next to her brother. A hundred courtiers and foreign dignitaries bowed deeply and made sounds of worshipful admiration.
"What's it to be, do you think?" Flaccus asked. "A treaty or our execution?"
Marcus gave it some thought. "I don't think she'd have inquired about my helmet if she planned to have us killed."
A few minutes later the steward summoned them and they followed him into the throne room. They passed between lines of dignitaries, many of them attended by their own retinues, most of whom watched the Romans with calculation as they made their way toward the dais that held the twin thrones.
Not quite twins, though. Selene's throne, to the right of her brother's, was slightly higher. Ptolemy, still no more than a boy, sat sullenly, watching the Romans with no favor. They had eliminated his counselors and set his sister above him. She had made him dress decently in Greek fashion, without the wigs and cosmetics with which his former handlers had adorned him.
The Romans halted before the dais and bowed in the only fashion approved by Roman etiquette: a slight inclination of the head.
"I wish it to be known to the people of Egypt," Selene began, "to the Senate and people of Rome, and to all the world, that Hamilcar of Carthage is a menace to the lives and liberties of all people who dwell around the Middle Sea. In all the world, there are only two nations capable of resisting his vicious aggression: the glorious kingdom of Egypt and the Republic of Rome with its dauntless legions. To this end, I proclaim a treaty of alliance and friendship between the nations of Egypt and Rome." She held a hand out to one side and an official placed a scroll into her upturned palm. With a hieratic gesture she brought it before her and unrolled it, with her arms at full extension. It looked impressive, made of parchment from Pergamum instead of the more common papyrus. It bore a great deal of gold leaf, lavishly applied, and carried a large waxen seal stamped with the Ptolemaic device and a somewhat smaller seal stamped with Selene's personal cartouche, with her Egyptian reign-name in hieroglyphics. The text was written in austere Attic Greek letters.
"This document," she announced, "makes official and lasting the relationship between our nations. It specifies trade relations, mutual rights to port facilities, the aid and repatriation of shipwrecked mariners and so forth. It spells out the relative values of goods and spheres of trade influence. These are very simple, because Rome is not a commercial power arid there is almost no problem of competition.
"In the military sphere, our armed forces are to operate as one in the war with Hamilcar of Carthage. Rome's army is formidable, but her navy is in its infancy, small and untried against the naval might of Carthage. Egypt's navy is great, and I shall call upon the ships of our sister kingdom of Cyprus and our allies of Rhodes, Crete and the Greek cities of Asia. Together, we will prove more than a match for Hamilcar.
"Our land formations will be commanded at the unit level by our professional officer corps, under the overall direction of our good and trusted friend, Marcus Cornelius Scipio of Rome." She looked at the Romans. "Marcus Cornelius Scipio, approach."
He took the few steps forward. With an efficient gesture she rerolled the treaty and handed it to him. He accepted it with the same minuscule bow. She held her hand to one side again and a different official gave her a massive collar of gold. This she placed over Marcus's head, forcing him to bend his neck a bit more.
"Show a little humility," she whispered, "you arrogant twit!"
This ceremony accomplished, Marcus backed away a few steps. "On behalf of the Senate and People of Rome, I accept this document for the Senate's approval, which, I have no doubt, will be granted wholeheartedly. This signals a new era for Rome, for Egypt and for the world. Not for many lifetimes have two great powers sworn friendship and cooperation. Never before have two such united to resist the depredations of a would-be conqueror.
"When Egypt and Rome together have eliminated for all time the threat of Carthage, all the world that borders the Middle Sea may look forward to a golden age, for Rome and Egypt together will protect them from any who henceforth would aspire to the crown and empire and reputation of Alexander."
To this Selene said nothing, but her look, and that of the onlookers, said it all: And who will protect the world from you Romans?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"A ship," the signals officer announced. The massive army of Titus Norbanus the younger was encamped outside the walls of Massilia, an old Greek colony established on the southern coast of Gaul, where it had prospered mightily. Norbanus had demanded their immediate surrender, but the citizens feared Roman reprisal because they had contributed troops to Mastanabal's army.
Norbanus looked up from where he stood on his command platform. The city was not yet formally under siege, pending a decision of its council, but Norbanus liked to keep control from a position that left no one in doubt of his military preeminence.
"What sort of ship, and is it alone?" he asked.
The signals officer stood with the rest of his staff to one side of the platform. He was squinting toward a small headland to the southeast, where lights flashed from mirrors of polished silver. "A single vessel of unknown type," he reported.
"Unknown type? How many are there? Is it military or a merchant vessel?"
From where they stood the sun was at the wrong angle for mirror signaling, and there was too much wind for smoke, so the signals officer ordered certain flags raised on long poles and waved according to his direction. More flashes answered. "Says he doesn't know."
"Doesn't know, eh?" Norbanus said. "If it turns out to be some common vessel, I'll have his balls for lunch."
"My staff know their work, General," the signals officer replied stiffly.
Norbanus had lost interest. He studied the walls opposite him, assault plans running through his head. He did not want to lay siege to this place, but he would if necessary. He had several reasons for reluctance. One was delay. He was impatient to come to grips with Hamilcar before some other Roman commander, even his father, should have a chance to. Another was a certain proposal he had in mind to put before the Massiliotes; one he thought would surprise them. But barring a favorable outcome, he would massacre them all. He did not really wish to slaughter civilized Greeks, particularly the inhabitants of a city that had sided with Rome in the wars with Carthage. But if an example had to be made, he would make it here.
"There it is!" someone shouted later. Norbanus looked to see a bizarre little ship rounding the cape. Actually, he thought, the ship itself was not especially odd. But its long, triangular sail was unlike anything he had seen before. Not that his nautical experience was vast. Like most Romans, he had never laid eyes upon the sea until crossing south of the Alps less than three years previously. Only a few Romans who had traveled or soldiered as far as the Northern Sea had seen such a body of water, and seafaring was utterly new to them. Still, all the sails Norbanus had laid eyes on before were square.
"Go get the fleet master," he ordered, and a messenger hurried off. Norbanus's fleet filled Massilia's splendid harbor, and while Roman officers commanded it, most of the ships had Greek sailing masters under the direction of a Greek fleet master. The Romans were still too new on the water to trust their own skills. The
weather-beaten Greek climbed to the platform and saluted.
"What sort of ship is that?" Norbanus asked, pointing to the little craft just making its way through the fleet in the harbor.
"Never saw the like of it," the man admitted. "I've heard of Indian ships that must look like that, but never laid eyes on one. The hull looks Alexandrian, so I'd say what we have here is one of the toys they've been playing with. I'd like to get aboard her and see how that sail works."
Even as they spoke, the yard lowered and the blue sail with its hippocampus was furled. Long sweeps, three to a side, were run out and the ship was laboriously rowed up to a stone pier.
"Scipio," Norbanus said, shaking his head. "Does he think he can impress me with another of his playthings? If so, he should have sent one of those flying men I hear he has. Now that would impress me." His officers chuckled. Nobody knew whether they should believe the stories coming out of Alexandria.
Norbanus studied the angle of the sun. "It's late," he announced. "There won't be any fighting today. If that boat carries anyone of importance, send them to my tent."
Later, he was sitting at dinner with his officers when two men were ushered in. They were Greeks with the look of scholars, but they carried a number of document cases that bore Roman markings. They bowed before the general and introduced themselves.
"Zeno and Izates?" Norbanus said. "I've heard of you. Some sort of philosopher-historians with a roving commission from the Senate as messengers and envoys, aren't you?"
"That is roughly the situation," said the handsomer of the two. I can't claim that we have any official status, but we've been enjoying the duties immensely."
"Spoken like a true Greek," Norbanus said. "Have a seat and join us for dinner while I look over what you've brought us." The first document to come beneath his eye was from Marcus Scipio. This one he set aside for later, so as not to ruin his appetite. Others were from the Senate and from contacts in Rome and on Sicily. The little ship had stopped at Syracuse and Ostia on its way to him. These he perused with interest. His father was now at Lilybaeum, amassing his army. The city was the westernmost point of the island, just a short hop across the strait from Carthage—always assuming that the Carthaginian fleet would not interfere with the hop.
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