Her use of the word "we" did not escape his notice. "Disaster? The man was not worthy and his army consisted of nothing but hired scum. Where is the disaster in this? The naval battle was more costly. Ships are more expensive to replace than men. But it was a small affair." His scouts had rounded up a number of the surviving sailors and marines. They had spoken of the Roman innovations: the taller ships with their heavy timbers and their castles and corvi. Hamilcar had attended their interrogation closely before ordering that all of them be crucified.
"Now your army will be weaker when you confront Norbanus," she insisted. "It is weaker by several thousand men." The shofet astonished her. He seemed to be absolutely impervious to his folly. She began to doubt the wisdom of allying herself with him. His previous setbacks had been the workings of chance or bad luck, but this was a disaster of his own making. From the moment they crossed the Strait of Hercules, she had urged him to march with all possible speed, so that they could link up with Mastanabal and fall upon the Romans with their combined forces. Instead, he had dawdled, making one excuse after another. Now she could see that it was deliberate. He did not want to share the glory with a possible rival. Arrogance and willfulness she could forgive in a king, but not stupidity.
"Norbanus," he mused, seeming only to halfhear her. "That man needs to be humbled."
A letter had accompanied the general's head from the Roman.
From Titus Norbanus, proconsul of Rome, to Hamilcar, shofet of Carthage, greeting.
Shofet, I rejoice that you and I will meet again so soon. I have found a splendid battleground, well watered and with plenty of room for both armies to camp. The ground is level, not too stony and with plenty of grass. Personally, I cannot think of a finer spot to add you and your army to my battle honors.
Of course, certain formalities must be honored. I am charged by the Senate of Rome to order you to turn around and march your army back to Africa. Should you choose that course, I will follow you, but not too closely. I will not hinder your crossing of the Strait of Hercules.
However, I know that you are a soldier and a man of spirit, so I fully expect you to choose honorable battle rather than ignominious retreat. I await your pleasure, here on this excellent field near the aptly named town of Cartago Nova.
"He actually tells you that he has picked his ground for battle. Does he seriously expect that you will comply?"
"It would keep matters simple. A fight on level ground to decide the contest in a day. And to avoid battle might be taken for cowardice."
"You cannot mean it! Your ancestor Hannibal never let the Romans choose their own ground for fighting. On some occasions he retreated before them for days, until he found the ground that suited him, and then he fought, on ground and terms of his own choosing. Did anyone ever accuse Hannibal of cowardice for this?"
"My ancestor was glorious, but he never had numerical superiority. Always, his numbers were inferior. I have here a far larger army than Norbanus commands. And doubtless he lost many men in the fight with this fool." He waved contemptuously toward the oil-gleaming head.
"I think he lost very few," she said.
"No matter. Many or few, I will crush his contemptible legions and march on, destroying any Roman force that dares to defy me. Then I will destroy Rome, and I will not be as merciful as my ancestor was. I will pulverize every last stone of the city and I will kill or enslave every Roman in Italy. Then, when I am ready, I will march north, to their capital of Noricum, and destroy that and every other vestige of those misbegotten people."
"Excellent words," she said. "I think there are better ways to put them into effect."
"That will be enough. I will not have men saying that the shofet of Carthage is following the advice of a woman, even a queen and distinguished ally."
With an effort, she restrained herself from answering. She knew now that she had done her work too well. She had set out to convince him that he was the new Alexander and greater than Hannibal, and that his destiny and hers were linked. Now it seemed that he accepted the first part, but thought that she was somehow his inferior, a mere woman rather than a queen of more than mortal status. She would have to correct this.
Titus Norbanus rode over the battlefield he had chosen, and it was not for the first time. It looked level and consistent throughout, but this was not quite so. A narrow stream ran through it, and certain pieces of ground near the stream were boglike. He had had horses graze upon these patches, to crop the longer grasses down to the length of the rest. There were stony bits of ground, too. The stream itself was deceptively deep in spots. He had had it sounded along the whole length of the field, and knew exactly where all the deep spots were. When the time came for the battle, he would know the field intimately, and his enemy would not.
He looked southward along the stream. He could just make out the fine city of Cartago Nova. He had not bothered to besiege the city, nor had he even sent envoys to demand its surrender. He had an immediate use for that city, and it was not as mere loot. His officers were mystified by his actions, and he had not enlightened them. He had ordered his admiral to stand his fleet well up the coast, out of sight of the city with its fine harbor. This, too, puzzled everyone, and that was exactly how he wanted it.
Satisfied that he knew precisely the nature of the ground, he rode back to the Roman camp. He had ordered its rampart to be raised higher than usual, and had denuded a nearby hill of trees to construct its palisade. He wanted to give the appearance of a defensive posture.
He rode through the gate and along the via principalis to the praetorium, where he dismounted and passed inside. A slave took his helmet and others stripped off his armor so efficiently that he did not have to pause as he strode through the huge tent. He pushed aside a leopard skin hanging and went within his women's quarters. Within, the two Judean princesses sat at a table, poring over their everlasting astrological charts. At his entrance they knelt and pressed their foreheads to the carpeted ground, an unusual thing to see from the proud sisters. He grasped a shoulder of each and raised them to their feet.
"Little princesses, what have the stars in store for me?"
"Master, we are sorely puzzled," Glaphyra said, her eyes downcast. "Until now, all our forecasts were favorable. Now something is wrong."
"Wrong? How? Do the stars say I will be defeated?"
"Not exactly," Roxana said. "But you must not fight tomorrow. The signs say that you will not win glory tomorrow."
"Is that all? Do not trouble yourselves. I expect Hamilcar to arrive this afternoon, and I will fight him tomorrow, and all will go as I have planned."
"Master!" Glaphyra gasped. "Do you not trust in our art and our gifts? You must not fight tomorrow!"
"I believe implicitly in your predictions and your mastery of your art. But, you see, all battles are not fought to win glory."
"We do not understand, Master," Roxana said.
"That is very good. You do not understand what I intend and neither do my officers. That means that Hamilcar will never guess what I have in store for him."
That afternoon, Norbanus stood atop the battle tower he had had erected at the edge of the field. It was higher than usual, shaded with an awning and equipped with all the signaling gear he would require. As his scouts had foretold earlier that day, the army of Hamilcar was marching onto the far side of the field, regiment after massive regiment of them. With great interest, Norbanus studied the units as they arrived, peering through Selene's unique gift. As always, he marveled at how the device made distant things seem so much nearer. With it he could make out the details of standards, the shapes and colors of shields, making it easy to identify the units as they arrived and deployed to their camping sites.
This was very important, for he knew that the camping arrangement would correspond closely with their order of battle. Old Hannibal had made it a doctrine of Carthaginian military practice that, in deployment for battle, no unit should cross another's path of march unless it be for purposes of decepti
on.
On the extreme left of the Carthaginian camp he saw Spaniards: famed not only for their savagery but for toughness and endurance. In the middle was a huge mass of Gauls. These were ferocious in the attack, but had a reputation for faltering if the first mad rush failed to carry the day. On Hamilcar's right, the southern end, the Greek and Macedonian professionals were setting up a neat and orderly camp. These were the principal nations, but many others were there as well, most of them skirmishers, slingers, archers and horsemen. They were men of Libya and Numidia, of the desert and nameless nations of the African interior. There were light cavalry of a sort he had never seen before: men in trousers and long-sleeved jackets and pointed caps. He guessed these might be the Illyrians. Norbanus paid them little attention. Controlling Hamilcar's main battle line was the key to tomorrow's fight.
"General," said Cato, "I make their numbers to be at least twice our strength."
"No matter. We've destroyed barbarian armies many times our own numbers before." He handed the magical little device to Niger, who snatched it and scanned the enemy camp feverishly.
"What I see over there isn't a great mob of disorganized tribesmen. Those are hard-bitten professional soldiers and warriors under tight discipline."
"If their strength doesn't bother you," Cato said, "what about the news that his navy showed up in the harbor of Cartago Nova this morning?" He jabbed a finger toward the city, just visible in the distance to the south. "Why didn't we take that town when it would have been easy?"
Norbanus sighed. "Because it did not suit my purposes. I have a plan for that city."
Niger handed the device over to Cato. "Perhaps it's time for you to explain just what that plan is."
"All in good time." Norbanus leaned over the railing and called for a herald. An olive wreath encircling his brow, the man appeared on the platform minutes later, draped in a white robe, holding a staff of hazelwood. "Go to the camp of Hamilcar," Norbanus instructed. "Extend to him my invitation to confer just before sunset at the stream. Neither of us is to be accompanied by more than two companions, the armies to remain in their camps." The herald repeated the message, bowed and left to deliver it.
"Don't go, General," Niger advised. "He'll do something treacherous. Let some of us go to deal with his officers."
"But that would be unworthy," Norbanus said. "And he won't do anything to besmirch the victory he is sure he will win. Now he's seen our army, and he has every confidence in his chances."
Niger closed the optical device with a horny palm. "He buggering well has a right to be confident."
That evening, as the sun lowered in the west, Norbanus rode out, accompanied only by Niger and Cato. His spectacular armor was freshly polished to reflect the rays of the setting sun and cast them back toward the enemy. His splendid cloak, Jonathan's gift, billowed out behind him. He rode a gleaming black stallion and was perfectly aware of the picture he made. His companions, more soberly attired, frowned, but as they approached the stream their faces smoothed into the impassive Roman mask, drilled into them since youth as the only proper expression to assume when dealing with foreigners.
Hamilcar arrived at the stream at the same time as the Romans. He, too, was splendidly arrayed, in golden boots, gold-embroidered purple tunic and robe. On his brow rested a circlet of gold attesting his royal status. Behind him rode an armor bearer who held his sword and helmet, in token of his military mission. Beside him rode a woman who was bizarre even to the now well-traveled Romans: a veritable Amazon with yellow hair and blue eyes and tattooed all over. She looked more like a goddess of some savage race than a proper companion for a civilized monarch.
"Greetings in the name of the noble Senate of Rome," Norbanus said. "I have not seen you in far too long, Shofet."
"You have come up in the world, Norbanus," Hamilcar said, taking in the lion-mask helmet and the abundance of royal purple the Roman general wore. "I would remind you that I was already at the crest of the world when you were still living in some obscure German fort."
"And this must be the famous Queen Teuta of Illyria, of whom we have heard so much." He bowed slightly. "Greetings, Your Majesty. I rejoice to meet you at last."
She glared at him with the coldest eyes he had ever seen in a female face. "You are a jumped-up peasant from the North. Perhaps you are empowered to speak on behalf of your Senate, but do not presume to address us on your own behalf."
Norbanus smiled. "I believe I am here to confer with your ally, the Shofet Hamilcar."
Hamilcar radiated boredom. "Speak, Roman. It grows late."
"Well, then. Would you like to surrender to me now?"
"Don't be absurd!"
"I had to ask. Protocol, you know. Then shall we fight tomorrow?"
"Why should I fight at a time and in a place of your choosing?"
Norbanus made a show of looking all around. "Does this field not suit you? I couldn't find a better. It's level; there are no nearby hills to hide surprise reinforcements; there's a clear field of view for miles in all directions. If you know of a better place, I am willing to listen. As for the time, it makes little sense for us to sit here with our two camps glaring at each other, our men eating up all the food in the area and the horses devouring all the grass. More convenient all around to fight it out now."
"It hardly matters, since I will crush your contemptible little army in an hour."
"Tomorrow morning, then, at first light?"
Teuta snorted. "And fight with the sun in our eyes, like Mastanabal?" She ignored Hamilcar's irritated glance.
"Noon, then," Norbanus said. "With the sun at zenith, nobody will have the advantage."
"Tomorrow, then," Hamilcar said impatiently. "Tomorrow at noon I will destroy you, and the gods of Carthage will prevail over the gods of Rome."
"We'll be looking forward to it," Norbanus said. He made a sketchy but graceful double bow toward the shofet and the queen, then wheeled his mount and trotted away.
"The arrogance of that man!" Teuta said. "Did you see that helmet? It's the one Alexander wore in his portraits. He thinks well of himself.
"I did not fail to notice that little detail," Hamilcar said. "It is degrading to speak with such an upstart. At least Alexander was a king, and the son of a king, although of an obscure country."
Teuta forbore to snap back at that, knowing that Illyria was an obscure country. That man Norbanus intrigued her. She could not quite name what it was, but the Roman had something that Hamilcar lacked: some essential quality that raised him above the level of ordinary men. What a pity this Norbanus comes of an upstart, soon-to-be-extinct nation instead of a great empire, she thought. And too bad his army is so small by comparison. Otherwise, I might have done better to choose him as my companion, rather than Hamilcar.
The Roman party rode back toward the camp and discussed matters as they went.
"We'd better keep an eye on that wild woman," Cato advised. "She strikes me as twice the man Hamilcar is."
"So I noticed," Norbanus agreed. "Remember the story of Queen Artemisia of Halicarnassus at the battle of Salamis? The warrior-queens can give you a nasty surprise."
"Are you going to tell us what you intend now?" Niger demanded.
"Tonight. And I want no surprises tomorrow, so everyone is to be out on that field, in battle order, in silence as before. It will mean a long, hot wait until noon, but I've given them two days of rest, so they'll be up to it."
On the next morning, at first light, Norbanus was again atop his command tower. Before him was ranged his army, the legions in neat, elongated rectangles, extended to keep Hamilcar's much-larger army from overwhelming its flanks. It gave them very little depth, but Norbanus was confident in the Roman legionary's ability to hold formation, no matter how heavy the pressure.
On his extreme left, the southern end, were the Gauls and Spaniards that had joined him, hearing that this Roman was extremely clever and lucky, a clear favorite of the gods who could make his friends rich. To the extreme north
was the formation upon which so much of the coming battle depended: the Greek and Macedonian mercenaries he had inherited from the defeated Mastanabal. They were specialists in close-order fighting. Unlike the Romans, they hurled no javelins and placed little reliance on the sword. Instead, they fought with overlapped shields and long spears, overcoming their enemy through the weight of their formation and their own iron discipline. Those men had a crucial role to play.
It did not bother him in the least that both armies included so many Gauls, Spaniards, Greeks and Macedonians. The civilized men were professionals, and the savages just didn't care. All of them fought among themselves constantly.
His men sat on the ground, their shields propped up by their spears, while the noncombatant slaves distributed breakfast. Norbanus knew that it was folly to send men into battle on empty stomachs. He watched through his optical glass as Hamilcar's army marched from its encampment in leisurely fashion, two hours before the sun reached zenith.
They took up their positions exactly as they had encamped: Hamilcar's Greek and Macedonian units on the south, facing Norbanus's Gauls and Spaniards, Hamilcar's own Gauls facing the legions, his Spaniards fronting the northernmost legion and the massive block of the Greek-Macedonian phalanx.
"Splendid!" Norbanus said, marveling as always at how much the gods loved him. "If he'd allowed me to make his dispositions myself, I couldn't have done a better job."
"Maybe," Niger grumbled. "But it still seems a strange way to fight a battle."
Norbanus turned and addressed the officers crowding the platform behind him: all his cohort commanders and the senior centurions. "Gentlemen, you will never see me fight a battle that looks other than strange. It's the key to winning."
"But general," said a grizzled old centurion, "this business of keeping the legions purely on the defensive—the boys won't like it, sir. It goes against their training and their instincts."
"They'll like it when the battle is over," Norbanus assured them. "Believe me, soldiers love it when you don't get them killed. If anybody has any doubts when all this is over, I will deliver a speech that will let them know what this is all about." He turned and saw that Hamilcar's army was finally in full array—a terrifying sight in its great numbers. "Now go to your places. You all know what to do. Just watch and listen for my signals."
The Seven Hills Page 30
