Hannibal's children

Chapter 20

Hamilcar inspected the gallery, now manned by soldiers from Utica, Sicca and other subject cities of Africa. It was now much improved from the simple shed the Romans had erected. Working day and night, first the Roman soldiers and then his own slave gangs had heaped earth against the side facing Alexandria, creating a sloping ramp that protected the wooden wall against fire and the stones of catapults. Behind the shed, towers were going up. Soon they would overtop the low southern wall of the city and his archers and artillery would be able to fire down upon the defenders.

When the towers were completed, in another day or two at most, he could sweep the wall clean of defenders, allowing his sappers to attack the canal gate and give him access to the city. Who could have imagined, Hamilcar thought complacently, that the outlandish Romans would give him the key to taking Alexandria? And that the weak spot was the supposedly impregnable southern wall of the city?

"There was some sort of activity going on in the city all night," Mastanabal reported to his Shofet. "There was hammering and shouting. They're up to something." The general was looking wan these days, Hamilcar thought. Doubtless, the cross was ever in his thoughts. He had proven to be unable to take Alexandria quickly and knew all too well the fate of unsuccessful Carthaginian generals.

"Men in besieged cities often seek desperate remedies to extricate themselves from their difficulties," Hamilcar said. "They think novelties such as those absurd craft in the harbor can somehow save them."

The general was diplomatic enough not to point out that Hamilcar had made no further attempt to take the harbor. The seamen had acquired a superstitious dread of the bizarre craft that seemed more like living creatures than wooden ships driven by sails and the arms of rowers.

"I want-" the Shofet's words were cut off abruptly when they heard a whizzing noise, followed by an enormous splash in the lake behind them. "What was that?" He looked out to see the lake still agitated. A moment later water from the splash came down like a great rain.

"What just happened?" the Shofet said, unable to comprehend. Then came another splash, this one nearer to shore, casting up a huge spout of mud. A large fish landed near Hamilcar's feet and lay there flopping.

Then there came a deafening crash. Thirty paces east of the place where Hamilcar and his general stood, a huge ball of stone smashed through the lead-sheathed roof, pulping a number of soldiers and sending shudders through the whole gallery. Another crashed through the roof, then yet another.

"It's those big catapults!" Mastanabal cried, understanding now. "They've moved them across the city! They are casting stones over the rooftops to destroy this gallery! You must get to safety, my Shofet!"

Hamilcar had already figured out the last part. He could not stay here. He whirled and began to run, certain that one of the huge stone balls would squash him like a bug. In seconds he was just one of a crowd of fleeing soldiers, shoving them out of the way with his own hands, heedless of the contamination he incurred by touching unclean flesh.

It seemed an eternity later that he was beyond the gallery and safe from the terrible missiles. He saw a man in the plumes of an officer and beckoned to him. The officer, brilliant in his gilded armor, stood trembling before his Shofet.

"Commander," Hamilcar said, "I want you to assemble all these men"-he pointed to the soldiers who had fled the gallery-"and take them to that field over there." He indicated a broad meadow at the western end of the lake, currently being used to pasture the Carthaginian livestock.

"At once, my Shofet," the man said, bowing. He strode away shouting orders.

Mastanabal came from the wreckage, picking wood splinters from his cloak and beard. "It seems the Roman project was not so good an idea, after all."

"That is not important at the moment," Hamilcar said. "You see those men assembling in the field?"

Mastanabal studied the survivors. "Yes." He estimated that three of four hundred men remained standing.

"Go get my personal guard. Disarm those men, then crucify them all."

Mastanabal understood. "Yes, my Shofet." He bowed and went in search of the guard and some carpenters. The men had done nothing to deserve punishment, but their offense was more serious than treason: They had seen their Shofet panic. They had seen him run. Mastanabal shuddered. He, too, had seen Hamilcar play the coward. Was there a cross waiting for him as well?

For the rest of the day, even as the unfortunate soldiers were nailed to their crosses and raised on display before the whole army, the huge stones continued to pound the gallery to fragments. Alexandria was once again in control of the lake and its access to the Nile and the interior. The siege would not end quickly.

“There goes another one!” someone shouted. The crowd assembled on the grounds of the vast temple of Serapis made sounds of awe as another 500-pound ball arched high overhead, crossing the city from north to south, disappearing beyond the southern wall, so distant that the crash of its impact came only faintly to their ears. Then there was applause and cheering. People had winced and ducked at the first few missiles and found the novel sight unnerving. By mid-morning they were used to it and treated the sight as a new sort of spectacle.

Selene watched from the top of the temple steps like a priestess presiding at a ceremony. Scipio had advised her to show herself to the people as much as possible. It would help to bind them to her, he explained. This, she thought, had to be connected to his republican form of government. Egyptian monarchs expected to be worshiped. They placed no value upon popularity.

She saw a ripple go through the crowd, the way an animal's progress through a wheat field can be marked by the waving of the stalks. Someone was pushing through the crowd toward her. For a moment she went numb. This must be Ptolemy's guard coming to arrest her. It was over. Then she breathed relief when she saw the two Romans clear the crowd and climb the steps.

Selene held out her hand in greeting. "Welcome, savior of Alexandria," she said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. A great cheer went up. The Romans kissed her hands, then turned to wave at the crowd, beaming. Both were tricked out in their best uniforms: cuirasses embossed to represent Herculean muscles, red-plumed helmets beneath their arms, scarlet cloaks flaring dramatically. Even unwarlike Flaccus managed to look martial.

"Don't get too relaxed," Flaccus said in a low voice, still grinning and waving. "Your little brother's guards are right behind us, with warrants for our heads and your living body."

Selene gasped. "We must get away!"

"No," said Scipio, waving and grinning. "We stay right here, with this wonderful audience. They love you and by natural extension now they love us. They think I'm the savior-you've named me, although Chilo and the Archimedeans ought to get the credit."

"But," said Flaccus, "taking credit for other men's work is part of the politician's art. So saviors we shall be."

"I am terrified," Selene said, taking her cue from them and waving graciously to the crowd.

"They'll take it for righteous indignation," Flaccus told her. "When the guards come, be sure to be outraged. Remind everybody of our wonderful services on behalf of Carthage, and of the disgraceful performance of Ptolemy and his ministers."

"That part shouldn't be hard," she said.

"Good," Marcus said. "Leave the rest to us. This will be an exercise in the oratorical arts we've been trained for since boyhood."

"You Romans do something besides fight efficiently?" she said.

"Oh, yes," Flaccus said, "we're great talkers, too."

"Here they come," she gasped. She could see a party of armed men plowing through the crowd, causing a broad "V" pattern to ripple through it. They wore the uniform of the king's personal guard: mercenaries from a score of nations who had no connection to Alexandria and therefore were unlikely to be involved in domestic conspiracies. In theory, at any rate.

Once through the crowd, the guard, perhaps a score in number, climbed the stair. In the forefront was a young Spartan officer who held aloft a roll of parchment. "I have here," he said, "the king's warrant for the arrest of the Romans who call themselves Marcus Cornelius Scipio and Aulus Flaccus, and for the arrest of Selene, of the family of Ptolemy." The crowd stood in stunned silence.

"What?" Selene almost jumped when the word boomed out. "You dare to so address the Queen of Egypt?" Marcus stood in a most impressive pose: feet widespread, upper body half refused, head turned to glare at the officer with a majestic, eagle gaze. She had never heard a voice trained to be heard across a noisy forum or a legion encampment.

Flaccus made a broad, actor's gesture, his cloak draped gracefully from one arm. "Surely that corrupt child Ptolemy never gave you this order!" The humorous scorn in his voice was infectious. "Who was it really? That coward Parmenion, who lost the first and only field engagement of this war? Or was it that no-balls Eutychus? Or that vicious bungler Alexandres?"

The crowd began an ugly mutter. The officer looked around nervously. Then he turned to his men. "Arrest them!" he said in a half-whisper.

Hands reached for them. An ugly Syrian tried to grasp Selene's arm but Scipio's sword was already out, flashing up, then downward in a great, theatrical blow that was serious in its intent despite its flourish. The man's hand fell to the steps as he cried out and clasped the spouting stump with his remaining hand.

"Alexandrians!" Scipio shouted with a broad gesture. "They have laid profane hands on your queen! It is sacrilege! Will you allow this?"

With a roar, the crowd surged up the steps like a great wave breaking upon a beach. The guards were overwhelmed by the mass of citizenry, disarmed, cast down the steps, pummeled and trampled until the pavement was slick with blood.

"Citizens!" Selene cried. "I am your queen!" The crowd roared approval. "Ptolemy is a boy, and his corrupt advisers have brought Alexandria and Egypt near ruin. Hamilcar defeated them in the field and ever since they have cowered here, unable to take decisive action. If Alexandria has been saved, it has been only through the heroic efforts of Marcus Scipio! Will you let your city, founded by Alexander the Great, fall to the degenerate descendant of Hannibal?" A great cry of protest rose from the throng. "Then take me to the palace and I, Selene Ptolemy, will give you the leadership that Alexandria deserves!"

"Brief and to the point," said Flaccus. "Very well done, Majesty."

"But now what?" she said. "Once they know the guard failed to arrest us, they will call out the troops."

"You go to the palace," Scipio advised. "This mob will set you comfortably on the throne. I will go to the Macedonian Barracks and address the troops."

"How will you handle this?" she asked. The dice had fallen and she was resigned to following his lead.

"What you always do with soldiers such as these. I will bribe them."

“What is going on in the city?” Hamilcar asked. He and his officers sat before his tent in the heat of the afternoon. All day, strange cries and murmurs had been heard from within the walls. There had been much scurrying about atop the battlements and the bombardment from the catapults had ceased.

All around the Carthaginian camp, work was in progress as men built lofty siege towers high enough to assault the western wall. Others were busy with sledgehammers, demolishing tombs to make a path for the ponderous machines through the necropolis. The Shofet had finally conceded that there would be no quick victory over Alexandria and he was preparing for a long, grinding siege.

"It sounds like civil war," said an adviser.

"Excellent!" Hamilcar said. "Perhaps someone sensible has killed Ptolemy and is ready to make terms."

"What terms would my Shofet find acceptable?" the adviser asked.

"Simple ones. If the Alexandrians surrender their city at once, I will spare their lives. Other than that, they are entirely at my mercy. We will take all their treasures, Egypt will be mine to govern under the customs of Carthage, their army will be absorbed into mine and the lands are to be divided among my nobles. There is no need to make things unnecessarily complex." His council made sounds of approval.

From the western end of the camp there came a clatter of hooves, and men dodged aside as a horseman in the livery of the royal messengers pounded toward the Shofet's tent. He drew rein before the council, so sharply that his mount almost toppled. The man flung himself to the ground and all but went down on his face before the Shofet, holding a bronze tube extended in one hand. Hamilcar took it, examined the seal and twisted the cap open. He withdrew a scroll of parchment, unrolled it and read. In moments his face paled and his hand trembled.

"What is it, my Shofet?" Mastanabal asked, knowing that is was bad news from Carthage. "An earthquake? Plague?"

"The Romans!" Hamilcar choked out. "They have completely reoccupied Italy! And they have invaded Sicily!" He cast the parchment to the ground with an inarticulate cry of rage and frustration.

"But that is impossible!" Mastanabal said. "There cannot be that many of them! We have most of their army here with us in Egypt."

"We have four of their legions," Hamilcar said. "At least ten are now quartered in Italy. Six more have invaded Sicily. Syracuse is under siege. So are Catana and Lilybaeum. Many of my garrisons have already surrendered!"

They are under strength because you stripped them for this war, Mastanabal thought. He was not entirely displeased with this development. The Shofet would need every experienced military man at his disposal now, and he could break off the siege of Alexandria without loss of honor. There would be no need to crucify a less than successful general. He considered his words carefully.

"My Shofet, we must return to Carthage at once. Egypt will still be here after this matter of the Romans is settled. Italy and Sicily have been our possessions for over a century, we cannot lose them. Most important, Sicily is less than a day's sail from Carthage. The Romans will be poised to strike in force at our sacred city!" The other counselors signified approval of these words.

"But Egypt is within my grasp!" Hamilcar cried, making clutching motions.

"And it will be again," Mastanabal said. "Already you have shown them your might. They will know that they were saved by the merest chance. They will be already half-defeated when we come back."

Hamilcar brooded for a moment. "What of Norbanus and those four legions?"

"Leave them here," Mastanabal advised. "They are alone in a hostile land, cut off from reinforcement or supply. Ptolemy's men are more than adequate to destroy them."

"I want none of them to leave here alive," Hamilcar said. "They have trained with my army and know all its details, as well as the defenses of Carthage. You saw that model of Alexandria they built. Romans study such things."

"They will die," Mastanabal assured him. "Where will they go? Egypt is hostile to them. If they march west, they enter Carthaginian territory. If they go east, they will meet the Seleucids and the Parthians. If they take to the sea, our navy owns it. Maybe they will go south down the Nile and carve another kingdom for themselves in Nubia or Ethiopia. Whatever they choose, we have seen the last of them."

Hamilcar nodded, but he remembered that once before Carthage had thought to have seen the last of the Romans.

In the Macedonian barracks, Marcus Scipio and Flaccus wrapped up negotiations with the soldiers. After protestations of loyalty for the sake of form, it had come down to money, as Marcus had been certain it would. These men were professionals and they followed a paymaster. They were not citizens of a republic, but hirelings who would serve their employer only so long as he was victorious and brought them loot. In the end, buying their loyalty was a matter of staters and drachmas on a carefully graduated scale of rank and length of service, from the generals down to the common troopers.

"Now that this is concluded," Marcus said, standing, "have your men assembled at the western gate, prepared for a sortie at my orders."

"You want a field battle against the Carthaginians?" said a hard-bitten Spartan commander. "The time for that is past. How would we get through the necropolis in any sort of order?"

"There won't be any field battle," Marcus said. "It will be more like collecting taxes. It may not be today or tomorrow, but it will be soon and I want us to be ready to attack at a moment's notice." Mystified, the commanders signified their assent. This Roman had proven himself able to deliver the goods, which certainly was not true of Parmenion or Ptolemy.

Selene met him at the palace. By her side was her brother-husband. The boy glowered at the two of them, but he said nothing. Young as he was, he knew better than that. The heads of Parmenion, Eutychus, Dion and Alexandras already sat atop pikes over the palace gate, and he had no wish to have his own join them.

"My brother agrees that all is for the best," Selene said. "His former advisers failed him wretchedly and he is ready for mature, disinterested guidance."

We can supply the maturity, at any rate, Marcus thought. He made a slight bow toward Ptolemy. "Your Majesty, I will be most happy to serve you." The boy nodded sourly in reply.

There was a banquet that evening to celebrate the occasion, for it took more than a mere siege to make Alexandrians give up banqueting. Toward the end of the proceedings, a soldier came in and spoke in Marcus Scipio's ear. He turned to Selene and Ptolemy, who had regained some of his usual placidity, knowing that he was not to be executed.

"If Your Majesties will accompany me to the western wall," Marcus said, "I will show you one of the finer sights of this war."

"Another of your new weapons?" Ptolemy said, brightening a little. He had enjoyed watching the fighting in the harbor, with the underwater boat and the bronze-clad warships.

"No, even better."

Huge litters carried them through the broad, straight streets of Alexandria. They were carried up a slanting stair to the battlements that defended the western gate of the city.

"Look," Marcus said. At first they could not make out what was going on. There was a confusion of running forms, men bearing torches, horses and elephants milling, unsettled at this unwonted nighttime activity. The shouts of men mixed with the neighs of horses and the trumpeting of elephants.

"They are leaving!" Selene said at last.

"Breaking camp and heading back for Carthage," Marcus told her. "Hamilcar just got the bad news I mentioned earlier."

"What was it?" He told her of the retaking of Italy and the invasion of Sicily. "So," she said, "you Romans have manipulated us: Carthaginians and Egyptians both. You have used us to your own advantage."

"Carthage and Egypt were going to war whether we were involved or not," Marcus told her. "Why should we not use the situation to our advantage?"

"Why not, indeed?" she said, mild tones covering inner turmoil. Just now, she was too delighted with seeing the Carthaginian army depart to indulge in rage. It would not do to let the Romans see her feelings in any case. But already she was making her plans. These Romans had proven to be far more than the unsophisticated soldiers they had appeared at first. Very well, if they were capable of subtle dealing, let them learn what the Ptolemies were capable of after many generations of royal intrigue. Only let them not learn beforetime.

Flaccus, always more perceptive than Marcus to the subtle nuances, read her expression. "We have been under strictest orders from the Senate to say nothing to anyone about the reconquest of Italy. The whole world will know soon. I think it is now time to establish the closest and most confidential ties of cooperation between Rome and Egypt."

"Certainly," Marcus said, understanding his gaffe somewhat too late. "Between us now we shall have Carthage in a vise. All our future efforts must be coordinated and we will take no military action without conferring with the sovereign of Egypt."

"That is for the future," she said. "What will you do now?"

"In a few hours, after the bulk of the Carthaginian forces are on the road, I shall order an attack against the camp Hamilcar is abandoning. He would need days to get it packed and moved. There may be enough loot to pay for your soldiers' loyalty."

She gazed out over the ruinous necropolis. "I will use part of the loot to restore the damaged tombs," she said. "That is what is most important to Egypt. It will help to bind the people to me."

Marcus smiled. "You know your own brand of politics. Just don't forget that your soldiers need to receive their pay regularly, with bonuses, or they won't serve you any better than they did your brother and his late advisers."

"But that is what I have you for," she said. She looked at the fast-diminishing Carthaginian camp. "Will they be back soon?"

"No," Marcus assured her. "Hamilcar's next war will be with Rome. We will destroy Carthage utterly, as we swore to our gods many generations ago. We won't make the mistake Hannibal made. We won't leave the seed of a new Carthage to come back for vengeance."

Titus Norbanus accepted the surrender of the Egyptian town seated in his proconsular curule chair, his lictors ranged behind him. This was the third such city he had taken for Carthage. There had been little fighting and no need for siege operations. It seemed that Egypt actually consisted of Alexandria and its tax farms down the river. Except in the far south, where Nubian incursions were a problem, the country was practically without soldiers. The only other garrisons of any consequence were east of the Delta, in a desert country called Sinai.

The conquered cities had yielded a rich harvest of gold and silver, jewels and other precious items. The cost of their ransom had been high. But they had not tried to bargain. These were a people accustomed to the feel of a conqueror's heel. He had avoided accepting slaves and livestock in payment. He wanted all the wealth to be as portable as possible.

When the message from Alexandria arrived, he thanked the gods that he had been so foresightful. He called his principal officers together and read it to them.

From Marcus Cornelius Scipio, envoy of Rome to the court of Alexandria to Titus Norbanus, Proconsul in command of the African Expedition, greeting.

Word has reached us that Italy is now securely within Roman hands. Norbanus paused while his officers cheered. What is more, the conquest of Sicily has commenced. Here the Roman officers roared approval, all but pounding one another on the back with glee. You must now break off your campaign in Egypt. Hamilcar has fled back to Carthage and this war is over. Bring your legions back to Alexandria. We can combine them with Queen Selene's forces and be ready to march on Carthage the moment we receive word from the Senate. Long live Rome.