"How fortunate you were," said Roxana. "Our mother was Babylonian, and she taught us much of the wisdom of her homeland, but women, even royal women, have never been permitted a true education in Judea."
"Many women study and even teach at the Museum and the other schools in Alexandria," Izates said. "Our city does not share the prejudice of the rest of the Greek world. I have known women of Alexandria who are distinguished mathematicians, philosophers and astronomers."
"Really?" said both sisters, seeming truly astonished for the first time.
"Very much so. And with the Princess Selene as de facto queen, the position of women in Alexandrian society has seldom been higher."
"It sounds like a vision of Paradise." Glaphyra sighed. "But I fear that our lord, the great General Norbanus, would never permit us to travel there."
"He desires to keep us close always," Roxana concurred.
"You are favored far beyond the lot of common women," Zeno said. "You must be the envy of the princesses of the earth. And yet—"
" 'And yet?" said both women in their disconcerting way.
"Nothing," Zeno said, with a dismissive gesture.
"No, tell us," Glaphyra insisted. "You were about to say that our happiness is not without flaw, weren't you?"
"He was," Roxana said.
"My ladies are most acute," Izates said. "I believe that what my friend was too delicate to say—I am a Cynic, and not nearly so delicate—was that all favors of men are untrustworthy and easily withdrawn. Men are changeable, and rulers the most fickle of all. Their unreliability is literally Proverbial, for does not our own holy book advise: 'Put not thy trust in princes'?"
"And how might such a fortune befall us?" Glaphyra asked. She said it coolly, as if it were an idle remark, but Izates could tell that she had given the matter much thought.
"In many ways, Olympus forbid that any of them befall. I would never suggest that you would give him a prediction that might prove to be wrong, but a ruler may easily be displeased with one that proves to be all too accurate."
"Such things have happened to other seers," Roxana murmured.
"And, forgive me, ladies, but the philosophy of Cynics is very hard on the vanity of the world, as hard as the prophets, but even such radiant beauty as yours must fade with time. A new mistress or wife can bring about a catastrophic downfall." He said it with great sadness.
"On the other hand," Zeno said, "wisdom and learning such as your own will last a lifetime, in the right setting."
Both women nodded. "The court of Alexandria being such a setting?" Glaphyra said.
"Nowhere else are women such as you held in so much honor," Zeno assured them. "And the learned ladies of Alexandria are free to come and go as they will, to have their own houses and schools, to found their own salons and control all their own properties. Even husbands cannot forbid this, and no woman of learning and property needs the protection of husband or master. So long as they attend at court upon the queen's pleasure, the rest of their time is entirely their own."
"It does sound more attractive than these rough soldiers' camps," Roxana admitted, "or the crude palaces of Judea, with their throngs of ignorant, uneducated women of the great families."
"You would not believe the sort of petty intrigue that prevails there should we tell you of it," said Glaphyra.
"I think we can imagine it," Izates assured her.
"We must consider what you have told us," Roxana said. "These are weighty matters, and not to be taken lightly. Will you be here for long?"
"We sail in a day or two, bearing General Norbanus's correspondence," Zeno said. "But now that the new sea-courier service is under way, the Roman establishment of Egypt and that of the peripatetic General Norbanus will keep in close touch. It may well be that we shall have occasion to call upon you ladies again, soon should that be your pleasure."
"Be sure to inform us upon your arrival," Glaphyra said.
"It may be that we shall have much to speak of." She gestured toward the table full of astrological paraphernalia. "We have not begun to disclose to you our deepest knowledge."
That night the two Greeks lounged in the fine tent Norbanus had put at their disposal.
"Well, our first roll of the bones came up Venus, as the Romans would say," Zeno commented.
"Thus far, we have succeeded beyond our expectations," Izates agreed, sipping at his wine. It was very fine wine, and he found that he was growing accustomed to fine things. This was unworthy of a philosopher, he knew. He also knew that he didn't care.
"We must be very careful with those two," Zeno said.
"It goes without saying."
"You noticed how they spoke in turn?"
Izates nodded. "It's meant to baffle people; confuse them and throw them off guard."
"That's what I thought. Even after a lapse in conversation, one would speak forthrightly while the other kept silence. Never once did both try to speak at once. I wonder how they arrange that. Some secret signal, do you think?"
"Twins share a bond that others lack. Perhaps no signal is needed, so sensitive is each to the other's thoughts and will. In some ways they are uncanny, but in most ways they are just common women. Better born, more learned than most, but ordinary, mortal women for all that."
"Ordinary?" Zeno said. "But how? I found them most extraordinary."
"No matter how high they started and how much higher they have risen, they have the same fears that haunt other women. Men, too, if truth were known. They fear loss of all they have. They fear old age and mortality."
"They fear being supplanted by other women," Zeno said, nodding. "And now we know what they want that Norbanus cannot give them: a secure future."
"And that is the weakness we will exploit," Izates said. "We have come a long way from our studies, my friend. We have gone from contemplation of the ideal and the ineffable to the manipulation of human beings for our own purposes."
"Then it behooves us to do this well. Power is more dangerous than wisdom."
In his own tent, Norbanus was contemplating his own future. The acquisition of Massilia was a great coup. It would cause outrage in the Senate, but so what? Every great Roman sought to increase his clientele. If he used his army to do it, he would not be the first. Others before him had placed tribes and nations in clientage to their families. He had merely done it better. Jonathan of Judea and the city of Massilia were now his. More would be his soon. Always assuming, of course, that he remained victorious.
Now he looked at the scroll before him. It held his future in a way that the predictions of the Judean women could not. Another boat had put in that day, this one from far west. It had sailed from Cartago Nova, and it carried a messenger: a taciturn man who had refused to speak to anyone but the general. The man had shown him a seal, and it had given Norbanus a little thrill that told him the gods had something exceptional in store for him. It was the seal of Princess Zarabel of Carthage.
Great Proconsul Norbanus, the message began. The time has come for us to make common cause, as we did while you were my guest in Carthage. Your countryman Scipio and his Egyptian queen are preparing to make the Middle Sea their own, while my foolish brother tries to emulate Alexander. With what I send you, you can make yourself master of the world. Make good use of this, and you and I can rule that world together.
This was bald enough, he thought, though why she thought he would need her, having destroyed Hamilcar, he could not guess. Desperation, he supposed. But what she had sent him was invaluable. It was nothing less than Hamilcar's campaign route and schedule and his order of battle, complete with numbers and units.
Hamilcar had departed Carthage with his army and was marching west. That meant he was heading for the Pillars of Hercules and Spain. Then he would turn east and march for Rome. But first he would meet Titus Norbanus.
He, Norbanus, would be first to crush Hamilcar. Not his father, not Scipio or any other Roman. The glory would go to Titus Norbanus the younger. He might have to s
hare the glory of taking Carthage itself, but this would be his alone. It was destiny. It was the will of the gods.
He began to pore feverishly over his maps. Hamilcar would be moving slowly. Norbanus had seen the army of Carthage on the march, and it could not move at anything like the speed of the Roman legions. Hamilcar would plan to link with Mastanabal, to add that victorious general's army to his own.
But he could not do that if Norbanus found Mastanabal first. It was always good to destroy the enemy's forces in detail, before they had a chance to mass against the Romans. It was one of the oldest dicta taught in Roman military schools: Bring your greatest strength against the enemy's weakness. This was far better than challenging strength with strength. He studied his maps.
Where was Mastanabal?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The march was proceeding altogether gloriously. The massive Carthaginian Army trailed out behind him so far that should he halt, the last elements would not arrive in his camp for two or three days. Size alone did not dictate this attenuation. So vast a host would devastate any country through which it passed. Friendly territory would suffer nearly as sorely as that of the enemy. Not that Hamilcar worried overmuch for the welfare and happiness of his subjects, but his Libyan and Numidian allies could quickly become enemies and their raids might slow and distract his troops. He needed his allied cavalry and dared not offend even their flea-bitten, barbarous chieftains.
Thinking of cavalry, he admired the horsemen who rode as his escort. They were Queen Teuta's Illyrians, and they provided not only his immediate guard, but rode as flankers and forward scouts as well. Their bizarre appearance had the locals gaping wherever they rode. The tattooed men were as fair as Gauls, but they wore tight-fitting trousers and soft boots with pointed, upturned toes. They had long-sleeved jackets and tall, pointed caps with dangling ear-flaps, and every bit of their clothing was stitched with colorful embroidery in fanciful designs: flowers and twining vines and elongated animals writhing into poses of knotted complexity. In their hands were long lances from which streamed banners, and at their belts they carried cased bows and quivers of arrows. Across their backs they carried short sabers in sheaths of figured leather and tucked into their sashes were curved daggers. They did not wear armor and regarded it as unmanly.
Their queen rode beside him, and she looked as fearsome as her men. Her clothing was similar to theirs, but made of gold-embroidered silk, her trousers voluminous, her jacket fitting like a second skin. Instead of the native cap, a lightweight crown of thin gold encircled her brow. The jeweled dagger at her waist was not an ornamental weapon, and at her saddlebow was slung on one side a circular buckler of thick hide faced with bronze, and on the other an axe with a long, slender handle, its head bearing a crescent blade on one side and a cruel, downcurving spike on the other. Once, Hamilcar had asked if she could actually use this odd weapon, and she had only smiled. Later, a hare started from beneath her horse's hooves. She had given chase, then unlimbered the axe, leaned from her saddle and beheaded the creature in mid-leap, her own horse at a full gallop.
Hamilcar reminded himself to ask her no more idle questions.
The weather was splendid, clearly a gift from the gods of Carthage to their favorite. The days were sunny but cool, the evenings just slightly rainy, so that the marching feet and hooves raised little dust.
Their route was along the coastal road. Sometimes it passed behind ranges of hills, and there were days when they were out of sight of the sea, but each time the water came into view again, so did Hamilcar's fleet, keeping easy pace with the army. As they approached prearranged harbors, the ships would speed ahead, so that when Hamilcar and his army reached that spot, the supplies he needed would already have been unloaded, supplies levied from the allies, subjects readied to be carried aboard and new rowers drafted from the locals. All was orderly and in the well-organized fashion that had given Carthage dominion over sea and land for so many years.
"I never knew that so great an enterprise could be run so smoothly," Queen Teuta said when they came in sight of the Pillars. "My chieftains would be hopeless at such a thing, and even the Greeks were not so well ordered in their glory days."
Hamilcar nodded with smug satisfaction. "It is our special gift from the gods. We are not truly a race of warriors, despite our military supremacy. We are sailors and merchants and explorers. These are activities that cannot prosper without close cooperation, discipline and careful planning. Alexander accomplished wonders, but his army marched hungry and thirsty much of the time. It did not occur to that glory-hungry boy to find out whether there was forage, or water, along his route of march. He depended instead upon inspiration, and the love of the gods, and the fanatical loyalty of his men.
"We know that such things are not to be depended upon. The favor of the gods must be purchased with continuous sacrifice. Men must be paid well and regularly. The supplies required by a marching army and a sailing navy must be arranged for down to the last detail before the first trumpet is sounded. Only thus does one gain an empire, and sustain it through generations."
"I shall remember that," she said.
At the Pillars, the fleet was waiting to ferry the army across. Triremes, cargo vessels and great, wallowing barges, many of them built since the fire in the harbor, were ready to take them across the narrow waters. The operation took more than ten days, with ships plying back and forth, carrying men and animals and supplies. Hamilcar found his confidence waning, his nerves assailing him.
"What troubles you?" Teuta asked. They watched the crossing from the tower erected on his personal warship: a huge vessel made of two ordinary triremes With a single deck spanning both.
"We are vulnerable here," he told her, an admission he would have made to no man. "If the Romans arrive, they could catch me with half my army on one side of the strait, half on the other. Even their contemptible navy could give us great trouble, with most of my fleet overloaded and dedicated to transport."
"Still, your might is sufficient to deal with them."
"True, though it would be a great bother. But what I truly dread is a change in the weather. At this time of year great storms can appear on the horizon and be upon us before we can seek shelter. Entire fleets have been lost to such storms, and there would be no way to rebuild here. I would have to march such of my army as I could salvage back to Carthage, and then I could not resume the war for at least a year, perhaps two. And that would mean waiting for a Roman army to cross from Sicily and besiege us."
"Worry does no good," she assured him. "You must trust your destiny."
Somehow, her words did not inspire him as usual. It was not her empire in the balance here, imperiled by every puff of wind and the whim of the gods. What if Zarabel was right and the gods were angry because he had not dedicated them a Tophet?
Norbanus found the army of Mastanabal in a valley south of the Pyrenees. His outriding Gallic cavalry located a foraging party and returned with prisoners to confirm what lay ahead. These men were local Gauls, of a breed heavily interbred with the old Spanish natives, impressed into the Carthaginian forces to make up for the heavy losses inflicted by Rome. They said that Mastanabal was drilling his new army just miles away, near the confluence of the rivers Iberis and Secoris.
Immediately, Norbanus gave two orders. First, the land forces were to redouble their marching speed. Second, his warships were to speed westward and catch any naval force supporting Mastanabal's army. Not a single craft was to be allowed to escape.
He wanted to achieve complete surprise, but knew that this was unlikely with an army the size of the one he led. Sooner or later a patrol of Mastanabal's cavalry must detect them and speed back with warning. No help for that. But he could be assured that the Carthaginian would have as little time as possible to prepare.
The land was hilly and wooded, very different from the lands of the East his men had seen on the long march. But the Romans felt at home here. It was not greatly different from the country where
they had been fighting for generations, since the Exile.
He was tense but exultant. At last, he would be tested in a real battle, against a formidable army led by a general of proven experience and skill. Not that he had any doubt of the outcome. Clearly, Mastanabal could not be accounted a general of the first rank. He had allowed himself to be badly mauled by an inferior Roman army, indifferently led. This was no Hannibal. The situation was ideal. Norbanus's army could be blooded here, at no great risk. Victorious, they would believe themselves to be invincible always. And he knew that true victory lay not just in arms and skill, but in the minds of men.
With a small band of his officers, he rode ahead of his army. They rode cloaked to cover the gleam of their armor, keeping away from the skyline. It was risky, but Norbanus wanted to examine the ground personally before committing his troops. Reconnaissance was an art that a commander neglected at his greatest peril.
The smoke from hundreds of campfires told them they were near the main army, and from this point they proceeded with caution. Eventually they found a spot of high ground and rode just short of the crest. Then they dismounted and went on foot to peer over the ridge at the huge camp below. It spread along the river for a great distance, behind an earthen rampart set with stakes and patrolled by sentries.
"It's a pretty well-ordered camp, for barbarians," noted Niger.
Norbanus had Selene's gift out and was using it to scan the camp, counting standards. "He has his Greek troops on the south end. You can tell by the way their tents are lined up. The rest must be Gauls and Iberians and other savages. They have no idea how to encamp. I'm amazed he got them to stay behind the wall." He passed the instrument to Cato.
The Seven Hills Page 26
