Hannibal's Children (23 page)

They stripped off their tunics and plunged them into buckets of water to soak the blood out and as they did this, they discussed the action just past.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" said Brutus. "Those thieves weren't attacking a warship for the prospect of loot."

"They were waiting for us," Marcus said. "I would speculate that Hamilcar put them up to it. He acts the generous host but he doesn't want us dealing with Egypt. Not while he's preparing for war."

"I knew we shouldn't have trusted a Carthaginian!" Caesar said.

The older men laughed. "Who was trusting anybody?" Flaccus said.

They entered the great harbor of Alexandria from the west on a glorious morning so windless that the smoke from the great lighthouse towered straight up like an offering ascending to the gods. The lighthouse itself was at the eastern tip of the island of Pharos, but even from the western end it bulked huge, standing a full four hundred feet high, ornate with marble columns in every Greek style. It was built in four stepped-back sections, the terraces green with lush plantings that hung over the railings, bedizened with dazzling flowers.

"A lighthouse makes sense," said Brutus. "But why tart it up with all that decoration?"

"It's a matter of aesthetics, Brutus," Flaccus informed him. "You wouldn't understand."

The western harbor was called the Eunostos, the harbor of "happy return." Within, it proved to be even greater than the harbor at Carthage. As if the lighthouse were not wonder enough, the island was connected with the mainland by a causeway called the Heptastadion, because it was seven stadia in length. The causeway was raised and pierced with arches so that ships could sail beneath it to the smaller Palace Harbor on the eastern side.

Lining the shore they could see broad plazas, gigantic warehouses, statues of gods and kings, ships without number from all parts of the world. Their skipper pointed out some of the wonders of the city. The vast temple that hulked a half-mile inland in the eastern part of the city was the Serapion, temple of Serapis, patron god of Alexandria. The strange, conical hill near the center of the metropolis was the Paneum, an artificial mound planted with the flora of Thessaly and topped with a circular shrine to the goat-footed nature god. Beyond the Heptastadion lay the sprawling palace and museum complexes. The whole city was built of white stone and it shone in the morning light like a philosopher's dream of a city, not a real city where men and women lived out their lives.

They did not moor in the Eunostos but rowed beneath one of the arches pierced through the causeway into the Palace Harbor. Here there were few commercial vessels but many warships, royal galleys and pleasure barges of stunning size and luxuriance. In the harbor was a small island with its own miniature palace, a marvel of perfect proportions.

Marcus noted that, while Alexandria lacked the architectural chaos of Carthage, its predominantly Greek design had an Egyptian overlay. While the buildings were almost exclusively Greek, some were ornamented with Egyptian hieroglyphics and the statues of gods and kings, while Greek in execution, were often arranged in traditional Egyptian poses; stiffly seated or striding, wearing items of Egyptian dress or bearing the attributes of Egyptian gods.

Drakon
steered a course toward the structure that dominated the waterfront: a palace wing built on the scale favored by the Successor kings. It looked like a place where giants would live. The Ionic columns were at least fifty feet in height, the pediment they supported featuring a battle between gods and titans, the figures twice human height.

The wharf to which they made fast was adorned with marble facing, carved with stone wreaths alternating with cattle skulls, the bollards to which the ship moored carved in the shape of giant scarab beetles. To Marcus's question the skipper explained that this beetle was a creature sacred to the native Egyptians. Its habit of rolling balls of dung along the ground suggested the passage of the sun across the sky.

"They think a shit-rolling bug represents the sun god?" Brutus said with wonder. "Barbarians are a strange lot."

"It certainly lacks the majesty of Apollo's solar chariot," Flaccus agreed.

Marcus had more important things than dung beetles on his mind. Before him lay the huge and ancient land of Egypt. It lay between Carthage in the west and the Seleucid Empire and the Parthians to the east. All his political and military instincts told him that Egypt could hold the balance of power in the world. If he performed his task here properly, Egypt could deliver that world to the upstart, returning Romans.

It seemed to the Romans that, for such exotic newcomers, they were attracting very little attention on the Alexandrian waterfront. Here in the royal harbor the ships weren't as numerous as in the Eunostos, but they seemed to hail from as many corners of the world. Common sailors were everywhere, but there were also a great many finely dressed people embarking and disembarking. Probably, Marcus thought, they were envoys to the Alexandrian court. There were also many with the look of scholars and these he assumed were bound for the great Library and Museum.

While ships of war and passenger vessels predominated, there were cargo ships, some of them unloading luxury goods for the palace, others that seemed to be laden solely with books.
Drakon
was just one Alexandrian warship among many and the toga-clad strangers that descended its gangplank rated little more than a glance from the colorful throng ashore.

"I suppose a reception committee was too much to hope for," Flaccus said.

"How could they know we were coming?" said Marcus. "Come on, let's see about some sort of lodgings. Then we can go petition the court." He saw their downcast faces and added: "Our lavish treatment in Carthage was a fluke. We happened to arrive at the right time. Don't expect it to happen twice."

Aeson came ashore and said, "You can bunk at the naval barracks. I'll be delivering my dispatches to the palace. I think you can expect to be summoned soon after that. I don't know about your diplomatic plans, but someone is definitely going to want to hear about that fight with the pirates."

The naval barracks was adjacent to the palace dock. The Romans had not spotted it for what it was because it looked no more military than the palace itself. Aeson saw that they were assigned quarters in a wing reserved for high-ranking officers, then went to deliver his dispatches.

The rooms were comfortable but spartan, their furnishings spare. Flaccus studied the accommodations glumly. "This is a bit of a letdown."

"How soon we grow spoiled," Marcus said. "It beats staying in some flea-ridden hostelry. This will do until we establish our credentials with the court. Then we can see about getting a proper house in the city."

While they saw to the arrangement of their sparse luggage, Marcus mulled over the events of recent weeks. It disturbed him that his fellow Romans of the officer class were so quick to grow accustomed to the luxury of the south. He wondered if the famous austerity of his countrymen was bred from the mere absence of temptation. Of his immediate followers, only young Caesar and Quintus Brutus seemed to show no taste for high living. He found himself worrying that the much-anticipated return to Italy might expose his nation to a decadence unknown in the brutal north.

And there was the matter of the pirate attack. Clearly, the pirates had been put up to it. The others assumed that Hamilcar was behind it, but Marcus was not so sure. There were other powers at the Carthaginian court, and Zarabel was far from the least of them. That she had shown them such favor meant nothing. He knew that, to gain advantage over her brother, she would not hesitate to exterminate a few interloping foreigners.

And, he was all too aware, there was a more subtle motive for her to want him out of the way. With his death, Norbanus became leader of the Roman delegation, and she could manipulate Norbanus far more easily than she could a man like himself. There were traps everywhere, and he feared that Alexandria would prove to be no less perilous than Carthage.

Selena II, Queen and Regent of Egypt, was getting very bored with documents. She sat at her desk with Memnon, the First Eunuch, and Sylphius the Chief Scribe, performing the unglamorous but necessary paperwork of government. The desk, by the standards of the Successors, was a plain and modest item: a thin slab of polished marble laid atop gryphons carved from the same stone.

"The tax accounts from the Fayyum, Majesty," said Memnon, sliding another stack of papyrus before her. She vowed a ram to Zeus-Amon if she could just be presented with something interesting. Her vow was rewarded almost immediately.

The Keeper of the Accounts Room Door came in and thumped his staff on the floor. "Majesty, Captain Aeson awaits with dispatches from Carthage."

Selene ran the naval list through her mind and came up with the man: Aeson, captain of the
Drakon,
a bireme. "Bring the dispatches to me and dismiss the captain," she said.

"Begging Your Majesty's indulgence, Captain Aeson says that he has an extraordinary report that must be delivered personally."

"Says he so?" This, at least, seemed mildly intriguing. Either the man was presumptuous or else he had something truly interesting to report. "Send the captain in."

She watched as Aeson made his way the length of the room. He was typical of her captains: a salty, weather-beaten Greek in a faded tunic. He halted before the desk and bowed.

"Majesty, I bring dispatches from Carthage." He set the dispatch case before the scribe.

"And something more, I understand?"

"Yes, Majesty. I bring a delegation from Rome." "Rome no longer exists," she said mildly, wondering if the man was addled.

"These are from the northern land where the old Romans were exiled. I can assure Your Majesty that the Romans still exist, and they are as formidable as ever."

This was an unlooked-for diversion. "These men are from Noricum? I've heard of the place, but never seen anyone from there except for a few slaves sent down to the Euxine markets. They really call themselves Romans?"

"That is the case, Majesty. They speak Latin, though they are passable in Greek. They wear the toga and they are fighting men such as I've never seen before. The old tales from the day of Hannibal must be true."

She leaned forward. "You've
seen
them fight?"

"I have a most amazing tale to relate."

Selene clapped her hands. "A chair for the captain, and refreshments." She addressed him. "Make yourself comfortable, Captain. Then tell me all about it."

Slaves brought the chair and a table and a platter of honeyed squab, figs, dates, cheeses and a pitcher of wine. The skipper was uncomfortable. "Majesty, I cannot sit and eat before royalty."

"Nonsense," she said, rising and circling the desk. The captain sprang to his feet. "Sit down, Captain." She gestured to a slave, who poured two cups full. Selene took one and handed the other to Aeson. The eunuch and the scribe made scandalized sounds, which she ignored. She perched herself on the desk. "Have something to eat, then tell me about these Romans."

She listened intently as Aeson delivered his tale. He described his annoyed amusement when he was ordered to deliver these primitive landlubbers to Alexandria. He said that his scorn was tempered somewhat when the Romans asked such penetrating and perceptive questions about naval matters. He described these odd men, their dress and manner, their way of speaking, their obvious pride and equally obvious discipline. Then he got to the fight.

"Two pirate vessels attacked an Alexandrian warship?"

"They didn't just attack. They were lying in wait and it was us they were waiting for. They must've had a lookout on top of the cape, because they were already churning the water white when we came into view. They were making straight for us and they weren't mistaking us for any rich merchantman, either. We never had time to properly prepare for battle. The first one was on us before we could even get the mast unstepped."

"And yet they didn't take your ship," she said. "Even after starting with such a clear advantage. We'll leave aside for the moment just why they were mad enough to assault a warship with no prospect of a rich haul. Tell me why you are alive and how your ship returned unharmed."

"Well, Majesty, this is the part you are going to find hard to believe."

"Go ahead. I've heard many marvelous stories and I'd like to hear another."

He told of the unequal battle when he thought
Drakon
was surely lost, how annoyed he was when the Romans, unbelievably, put on armor and calmly prepared to fight as if this were a land battle. Then, baldly and factually, he told how the Romans made an opening at the enemy rail with their spears, then stepped across and proceeded methodically to turn the enemy vessel into an abbatoir.

"They acted like it was a routine task, Majesty. Like this was something they did all the time. There were no heroics. The unit behaved like a machine for slaughter. When they came back aboard, it turned out the least warlike of the lot, the one named Flaccus, had taken a small wound. The rest of them seemed to think this was hilarious, like getting hurt in such a trifling fight was proof he didn't have the stuff of a real warrior in him."

"You've made my day much more interesting," she said. "I thank you. Now go and tender your report to the naval authorities and see to the replacement of your lost crew and such repairs as your ship needs. You've done well."

The captain rose, bowed and left the room. Selene turned to her scribe. "Find me whatever the library has on the Romans. There should be plenty. They were becoming a prominent nation before Hannibal expunged them."

"As Your Majesty wishes," the man said, clear from his tone that he regarded this as a matter unworthy of her attention. Selene had her own opinion on this.

Marcus and some of the other Romans were at weapons drill the next morning when the summons came. They had brought their practice swords from Carthage and were going at it in full gear. Marcus glanced over the rim of his shield when he saw the man in messenger's uniform come onto the terrace. In the instant his attention wavered. Brutus leaned into him with a shield-slam, knocked him off balance and cracked his lead-weighted wooden blade into the side of his helmet.