Destroy Carthage (26 page)

Having
garrisoned the fort on the isthmus, Scipio marched the
greater part of his army southeast round the city toward the
taenia,
where, like Censorinus before him, he based his fleet.
Here, close to the pellucid shallows of the bay of Kram, he was
as near as he could get, without breaching the walls, to the
vitals of the metropolis.

Immediately to his north lay the flats of the dockland, the
rectangular merchant harbour interposing between his view­point and the naval pool. The first basin, normally a throbbing
pulse of Punic commerce, now languished, its activity confined
to the occasional vessel which braved the Roman sea blockade.
The second, concealed by its surrounding galley sheds, was of
slight concern to Scipio, for Carthage had lacked a navy since
Zama. The admiral's tower reared a docile head, its trumpets
silent.

Beside the docks stretched the sacred ground of the tophet
and the ashes of countless acts of sacrifice, a sanctuary the
superstitious Roman troops would hope to by-pass. More ap­pealing to their cupidity were the market between the
cothon
and the near heights, the salubrious buildings round the public
square, the neighbouring senate house. Here would be rich
loot.

Prominent on the ground rising from the square to the
citadel, tall apartment blocks with roof-views of coast and sea
would have stood out clearly from the bay of Kram. Among
them climbed the narrow roads to the acropolis and to the
range of hills - from St Louis northeast to Bordj Djedid
-
which
terminated the northern aspect from the Roman camp. It was
amid the wharves, offices, tenements and state buildings of
the Byrsa that the struggle for the city would be won and
lost,Beyond the
enceinte,
from easterly Cape Carthage to Cape
Gammarth in the north, and throughout the westerly Megara,
a scattered population must quickly capitulate once the dense
conurbation of the southeast were captured. Trapped between
a Roman army in possession of the Byrsa, and Scipio's strangle­hold on the isthmus, the people would have lost their one
slender life-line with the outer world: the small fleet of
merchantmen still defying the sea blockade.

The intrepid captains of this band, homing with the elusive
skill that had foiled another generation of Romans in Sicily,
delayed the plans of Scipio, whose strategy rested on
weakening the city by starvation before mounting his assault.
In this policy lay the essential difference between his approach
and that of Censorinus, who had attacked an under-armed but
robust and spirited populace.

The measure of Scipio's reluctance to take on the Carth­aginians, even with his immense force, until they had been
enfeebled by lack of food, was demonstrated by the second
of his engineering prodigies. Unable to beat the blockade-
runners with his navy, he now resolved to build a great mole
from the
taenia
across the bay of Kram to the
choma,
or outer
quay, shutting off the common entrance to the harbours. For
the rest of the summer, the Roman army laboured at the
task.

Nearly 800 yards in length (some portions are visible above
the water to this day), Scipio's mole was described by Appian
as 24 feet wide at the top and 96 feet across the base. At that
rate, according to one modern estimate, more than 12,000
cubic metres of stone - possibly as much as 18,000 cubic
metres - would have had to be shifted in the construction.
Unsurprisingly, the Carthaginians at first regarded the project
with scepticism. Then, as the wall progressed and its threat
to them became evident, they countered with a scheme of
equal magnitude.

This involved two feats: 1, The improvisation of a fighting
fleet from old materials; 2, The digging of a new harbour
entrance, a direct channel from the naval basin to emerge at
sea north of the outer quay. The second, an enormous oper­ation in which men, women and children all assisted, was the
more remarkable since the Romans, on their own admission,
remained oblivious to the work afoot. Even reports from de­fecting mercenaries, though describing the incessant sound of
heavy toil, failed to identify its actual source.

Doubtless security precautions were rigorous. Nevertheless,
a characteristic civic responsibility, a closeness amounting
almost to mass stealth, is evidenced. The building of the fleet
was no less secretive. In this, however, the seclusion of the
naval base greatly helped.

Fifty vessels were constructed. Why this had not been done
earlier is unexplained, but probably the armaments drive had
claimed ship-builders for more urgent work. There were other
resource problems. Given a limited supply of materials, should
the Carthaginians create a small navy, outnumbered and out­weighed by the Roman fleet, or concentrate on vital blockade-
running merchantmen?

Could they, indeed, spare the able-bodied men for a fighting
fleet which, even restricted to fifty ships, might still take a
third or more of Hasdrubal's effectives? Such was the risk, it
seems reasonable to suppose, that it took the dramatic tighten­ing of the siege under Scipio to give the project impetus.

One thing is certain: had they wished to do so, the Carth­aginians had neither time nor the supplies to build heavy­weight warships. In fact, relatively light, highly manoeuvrable
craft were their preference; skilled seamanship their prime
reliance. Wrote Polybius:

Their ships were built to move in all directions with great
agility; their oarsmen were experts ... if some of their
vessels were hard-pressed by the enemy, their light weight
enabled them to withdraw safely and make for open water.
Should the enemy attempt pursuit, they came quickly about,
darting round them, attacking on the beam, always haras­sing . . .
Experienced handling was important. Punic galleys normally
possessed two rudder-oars, one belayed to each side of the
vessel. Much of the time only one was used, the other held in
reserve. But in battle two helmsmen were employed, operating
the rudders simultaneously for maximum manoeuvrability.
Without perfect synchronization, the method not only lacked
advantage but could prove a grave embarrassment. It followed
that practice and teamwork within a fighting crew were
vital.

Carthaginian seamen had missed battle experience for many
years. Until it got to sea, the new navy could not rehearse old
skills - and it could not get to sea until the emergency channel
had been finished, for the Roman mole was far across the bay
by the time the ships were ready. A special incentive to those
labouring on the passage was the fact that the enemy, pre­occupied with his own toils, had left his fleet largely un­attended.

Feverishly, the Carthaginians dug their channel; methodi­cally, the Romans slogged at their pier of stone. Scarcely was
the causeway completed, sealing, as its architects believed,
the harbour complex, than the citizens broke through the
final stretch of land to the north and their fleet appeared
at sea. It was a brilliant stroke, utterly surprising the
Romans.

But delay in seeking naval action was inevitable. Little value
can be placed in the familiar complaint that the Punic mariners
wasted time on the open gulf parading their new ships 'in
childish but natural glee.' The vessels had never been out of a
basin less than 350 yards in diameter - and that with an island
in the middle. They took to sea virtually from the building
sheds, crews unaccustomed to ships and each other.

The first task of the captains was to get the feel of the
vessels, their individual handling qualities, and to allow oars­men and helmsmen time to find rhythm and to rehearse the
execution of manoeuvres. It was, in fact, a period not of idle
cavorting but of sea trials and integration, with adjustments
perhaps required in harbour. Thus, while the case for an im­mediate attack on the Romans is evident, the Carthaginians
are maligned if their delay is seen as frivolous.

In opting for a couple of days in which to shape for ac­tion, the Punic captains were conscious not merely of the
tremendous effort made to float their vessels, but that
these were irreplaceable. The burden on them was a heavy
one.

As it happened, it was too great. Three days after its first
emergence in the gulf, the little navy bravely engaged the
powerful Roman fleet. A brisk but inconclusive battle followed
in which the Carthaginians weathered the odds until evening,
then withdrew toward harbour. The new channel was narrow,
soon congested. Unlike the sheltered and shallow approach by
the bay of Kram, it gave into deep water disposed to a tricky
swell.

While the smaller of the Punic galleys nosed into the
channel first, their larger sisters lay up by the outer quay to the
south, covered by artillery on the city walls and on the quay
itself. The big Roman warships that had followed were baffled.
Attacking head-on, they presented slight targets, but as they
turned to draw off they were broadside to the missile barrage,
highly vulnerable.

The Carthaginians might have been safe had it not been for
a flotilla of five ships from Side in Pamphylia, Asia Minor, on
a mission of goodwill to Scipio. Better seamen than the Romans,
the Pamphylians dropped sea-anchors on long lines and warped
back after running in to strike the Punic ships.

Scipio's captains, grasping the lesson, found themselves able
to inflict heavy damage to the enemy without turning their
prows from his artillery. Night had fallen before the surviving
Carthaginian craft managed to limp into harbour.

Such was the last naval battle of Punic history. Compared
with the great sea struggles against Rome - the victory of the
crows at Heraclea, the Carthaginian triumph at Drepanum,
and other epics - it was an anti-climax, an affair of modest
numbers in which the odds were too uneven to leave the out­come in much doubt. But the challenge of the 'final fifty' was
in the stirring tradition of a people whose seamanship was
praised unanimously by contemporaries, not excluding their
rivals.