Hannibal's Children (37 page)

"Excellent," Norbanus said, dismissing the boy. He looked toward the center again. Things were getting desperate there. He checked his own lines. All had been reordered and the men were in the best of spirits. He spoke to his chief trumpeter and the man sounded a prearranged call. Others took up the call. The legions began to move out.

It was a beautiful thing to watch, even with the men having to negotiate the obstacles presented by the carcasses. The Eighth strode forward with great panache. And the Twelfth moved out as soon as the rear line of the Eighth passed them. Then the Ninth wheeled left, the left-hand man on the front line marking time in place while the whole line to his right turned in a majestic quarter-circle until the whole legion was facing due north. The other two legions made their own turns and marched forward on the new front until all were even, presenting a continuous line to the Egyptian left flank.

Norbanus raised his hand and the trumpets brayed and red flags waved. The legions began to move north at a slow walk. Within moments the victorious Egyptians saw that the situation had changed terribly. The left flank began to fall in toward the center. Man crammed against man, body against shield. Men fell and others tripped over the fallen. A dismayed shout arose and panic spread. The Romans came into contact with the enemy but they did not charge. Instead, they just pressed steadily, first hurling their javelins, then thrusting their swords in an almost musical rhythm, gutting their enemies, piercing their throats, cutting off a hand here, a leg there, as calmly as workers in a slaughterhouse. Such was the jamming and confusion in the enemy lines that Roman losses were all but nil.

Norbanus grinned as he saw a group of mounted men detach themselves from the rear of the enemy center. They turned north until they reached the coastal road, then they were pelting eastward at a gallop. These, he knew, had to be Ptolemy's commanders, heading for Alexandria as fast as they could ride. Already, other men were leaving the Egyptian rear and retreating eastward. At first they left by units, retreating in good order under discipline. But the forward lines, engaged with the Carthaginians, were different. As the pressure from their rear eased, they began falling back hastily. When Hamilcar's soldiers pressed forward, they turned and ran, many of them to be skewered from behind. The rout became general.

"Signal the halt," Norbanus said. The huge, curved cornicen sounded and the legions stopped their advance. Disbelieving, the men in front of them who could still move at all joined in the rout and soon all over the field there was little to be seen except men running east in disorder. Hamilcar's light troops and cavalry harried them, cutting them down as they fled, but the troops of the center and the left were too exhausted to press a determined pursuit and exterminate the enemy. Norbanus estimated that three quarters of Ptolemy's army would make it safely to Alexandria. That suited him. He surveyed his fine lines, the quickly recovering Carthaginian forces, and the fleeing rabble, many of which had abandoned shields, weapons and honor. He saw a pair of observers sitting their horses on the crest of a ridge to the east and he wondered who they might be.

“That was well done!” Marcus said, his jaw all but dropping in admiration. "Both the legionaries and their commanders behaved splendidly!"

"I concur," Flaccus said, finished with his sketches and now making notes. "Surely the commander can't be Norbanus. He's not that good. The Senate must have sent out one of the best."

Marcus watched a while longer. "No, I think it must be Norbanus. I didn't think he was that good, either, but he's devious enough to have planned this and pulled it off. I don't know any other Roman of propraetorian rank that clever."

"How do you mean?" Flaccus asked, rolling up his papyri and stowing them in a leather tube.

"He could have won the battle just now, kept up the pressure, kept his men moving and caught the whole Egyptian army in a nutcracker with no escape but the sea. But a great victory didn't suit him. It would have been a victory for Hamilcar. Instead he turned the tide of the battle and no more than that. Hamilcar will depend on him from now on. It was masterful, in its way."

"And you're more devious than I thought, to have figured it out so quickly. Speaking of the sea, how is the navy doing?"

Rapt with the land battle, Marcus had all but forgotten that men were fighting at sea. Out there, all appeared to be confusion as the two fleets were inextricably mixed together in a pall of smoke and a great litter of sinking vessels and floating oars, bodies and other debris. Gradually, he saw some ships backing away under oars, turning and heading back east. Either the sea fight was going badly, or they'd seen that the land battle was lost. One after another, they raised their masts and hoisted their sails to catch the favorable breeze. Soon, such of the Alexandrian fleet as were still seaworthy were making their way back to their home harbor. The Carthaginian fleet did not pursue.

"That's it, then," Flaccus said. "Let's go before someone down there takes an interest in us." Already, haggard, terrified men, some of them dripping from fresh wounds, were passing them in their flight. None of them had a glance to spare for the two Roman horsemen. "Now what happens," he asked as they pivoted their mounts.

"Now the siege of Alexandria begins," Marcus told him. He touched his horse's flanks with his spurs. "Now we put a few of my own ideas to the test."

That evening, Hamilcar feasted his officers and his allies in his great command tent. It was Carthaginian tradition to hold such a feast on the battlefield after a victory, among the enemy dead. The huge pavilion had its sides rolled up, so that the feasters could enjoy the sight of the loot and trophies and the enemy dead, and so that they could fully enjoy the disposal of the prisoners.

Before the tent were piled on one side great heaps of weapons and armor, the captured enemy banners and standards, the loot taken from the enemy camp and the tents of Ptolemy's officers. All had been abandoned in the panicked flight of the Egyptian army.

On the other side were the heads of the enemy slain arranged on poles and racks and when the Shofet's servants ran out of wood, the remaining heads were heaped in a great, pyramidal pile. All around, incense burned in braziers to alleviate the stench.

In the center, directly before the Shofet's high couch, a bronze image of Baal-Hammon stood, a fire kindled in its belly. It was not as huge as the colossi back in the city, but it stood more than twice a man's height, hauled along on its own carriage following the army like a hungry vulture. All around it, bonfires flamed like relatives of the blaze in Baal's fat belly.

Norbanus and his senior officers joined the Shofet as soon as their own men were encamped according to regulations. They were conducted to a couch next to the Shofet's own and they reclined at a long table, somewhat uncomfortably since they had retained their weapons and cuirasses. Hamilcar quirked an eyebrow in their direction.

"I assure you the nearest Egyptians are far away," Hamilcar said. "My cavalry are still in pursuit."

"It is our regulation, my Shofet," Norbanus said. "While our legions are in enemy territory, we must remain under arms." They retained their arms because assassination was not out of the question. Kings had been known to murder successful subordinates, just as a precautionary measure. Norbanus estimated that he and his officers could probably fight their way back to the Roman camp should it prove necessary. He raised his cup. Poison was also a hazard, but it would not do to show timidity here, so he drank. As always, the Shofet's wine was excellent.

The men fell to feasting, and while the courses were brought in, Hamilcar distributed rewards and praise for those who had shown especial valor. His praise for the Romans was lavish, and with his own hands he draped massive golden chains around the necks of Norbanus and his officers, and promised generous cash donatives to the common legionaries. He praised their excellent precision in the spectacular and difficult change of front that had outflanked the Egyptians with such devastating results. He did not, however, hint that this move had not been his own idea.

When the last dishes were cleared away and the cups refilled, Hamilcar ordered that the prisoners be brought in. There were several hundred of these, many of them wounded, others captured because they fell exhausted or were surrounded. Some were Alexandrian sailors that had swum ashore from sinking ships. All were tightly bound and dejected.

By this time the hollow bronze statue of Baal-Hammon glowed luridly, its head a dull blood red, its hotter belly bright orange. The priests chanted the Moloch prayer as they marched in a circle around the image, casting handfuls of frankincense onto the glowing metal. The aromatic gum flashed away in puffs of sweet smoke. When the rites were done, burly temple slaves grabbed the first prisoner beneath the arms and looked toward the Shofet.

Hamilcar stood and raised his hands with palms outward, toward the god. "O great Baal-Hammon, greatest among the Baalim, we thank you for this day's victory. In your honor we dedicate to you the flesh, blood, bones and lives of the enemy prisoners, to appease your hunger, to avert your wrath, and to plead for your further favor in battles to come. May their cries be music to your ears, and the smoke of their immolation pleasing to your nostrils. Carthage worships you, great Baal-Hammon."

At his nod, the first prisoner was cast, screaming, into the glowing belly of the god. Even before his shrieks ceased, another was cast in. This was done until the glowing image would hold no more smoking, stinking flesh. Then the other prisoners were cast into the other, surrounding fires and while this was done, Hamilcar watched his new Roman allies carefully. Norbanus seemed perfectly at his ease and the rest were at least stoic.

When the feast and sacrifice were at an end, the Romans took their leave and returned to their camp. Priscus was first to break the sullen silence.

"What barbarians! Human sacrifice! Even the Gauls and Germans at their worst were never so disgusting!"

"Peace," Norbanus said. After the day's battle, he had found the feast and the holocaust of the prisoners to be deeply satisfying. "Our allies might hear you. We don't want to hurt their feelings."

I think it is time to dispose of this Roman,” Eutychus said.

"Not just yet," Parmenion cautioned.

The First Eunuch studied the general with a bland expression. "I would think that you, of all men, would want to see him out of the way now."

The two watched from the highest of the western guard towers as Marcus Scipio, accompanied by Princess Selene, oversaw the defenses in preparation for the arrival of the Carthaginian army. He had been unofficial supervisor for weeks. Now that Parmenion's position hung by a thread, she had little difficulty in making the appointment official.

"I have much to do now," the general said. "Let the man have this clerk's appointment for the nonce. We will take care of him and Selene in time."

Eutychus gave Alexandras an eloquent look and the Prime Minister answered with his own raised eyebrows. Parmenion had shifted the blame for the battle to the commander of the cavalry, for failing to flank and destroy the right wing of Hamilcar's host. The unfortunate Commander and his principal officers had been beheaded before the boy-king and in the presence of the rest of Ptolemy's officers, to encourage them.

The Prime Minister and First Eunuch held their own counsel. They knew all about shifting blame. They had heard reports from the battlefield that Hamilcar's right had been held by his new Roman mercenaries and that these men had fought like the old Spartans.

"Hamilcar is slow in arriving," Alexandras noted. "I expected to see his troops camped among the tombs days ago." From the western wall of Alexandria a vast necropolis stretched toward the setting sun. The Roman had urged that the tombs nearest the wall be demolished, for they would provide cover for Hamilcar's men from arrows and stones. But the Alexandrians had adopted certain native Egyptian customs and values, and to them the tombs of the dead were more important than the homes of the living.

"He is in no rush," Parmenion told them. "He won't stir from the battlefield until his siege train catches up. Hamilcar loves war engines as much as our Roman."

"He is becoming a popular man in the city," Eutychus noted, "and the princess has always been popular."

Parmenion snorted. "Popular! The mob loves him because he provides them with diverting spectacles. He plays with toys like those absurd underwater boats and the fool from the Museum who thinks he's a bird. They think there is something magical in these mechanical follies."

"Do you think any of these things could prove useful?" the First Eunuch asked.

"Maybe if the Carthaginians laugh hard enough, they'll be easier to kill," Parmenion said sourly. "Otherwise, they will prove utterly worthless."

Marcus Scipio sighted along the missile trough of one of the improved ballistas. In testing, its doubling of twisted cords and curved launching arms had provided an extra fifty percent of effective range. But even this was trifling compared to the new catapults. They were still under construction on a platform behind the wall. These had been invented by a man named Endymion who had some theories concerning leverage and the behavior of falling bodies. He applied these theories to the common staff-sling and produced engines that could hurl huge weights for unprecedented heights and distances.

"Can these things really win a war?" Selene asked, doubt heavy in her voice.

Marcus laughed. "No! But, skillfully employed, they can give us an advantage. Nothing wins wars except superior fighting and greater numbers and better tactics. And luck. Let us never forget luck. But if a good tool comes to hand and the enemy doesn't have that tool, it can be used to advantage."

They ranged along the wall, the soldiers bowing their way before them, and they assessed the state of the defenses. In the harbor they saw the new warships being towed to their docks. These were not the exotic underwater boats but they looked as outrageous: galley-length vessels twice the breadth of the common ships, with no trace of mast or sail. Instead, they were covered by humped superstructures plated with overlapping scales of bronze. They terminated in huge, saw-toothed rams. Indeed, each ship was simply an oversized ram, and they were not seaworthy. They were designed strictly for harbor defense and Marcus had dubbed them "crocodiles."