The Seven Hills(112)

"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 deception.

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.