"Do you think they can?" Fabius asked. "Hold out long enough for Hamilcar to get here, I mean?"
"Not a chance," Scaeva said. "Those boys we sent to spy out Carthage did their job well. We know more about the capabilities of his military than Hamilcar does himself. He's under the impression that he's Hannibal come again, but we know better." Both men chuckled, but Scaeva knew well the worry that gnawed at his subordinate: Hamilcar or his designated commander would appear by sea, with an immense navy. The Roman navy was new and untried, all but untrained. The Carthaginian navy was the most powerful in the world. Scaeva had to take Syracuse before the navy could appear.
Despite their distance from the fighting, both men wore full military gear, down to belted sidearms. This was Roman military regulation, just like fortifying every camp and posting sentries even in peacetime, with no enemy within hundreds of miles. Regulations were to be obeyed, even by generals. Sunlight glittered on their polished bronze, which was collecting dust, raised by all the marching, pounding and digging. The two cut the dust in their throats by sipping at cups of posca: the traditional soldier's drink of vinegar diluted with water.
The soldiers working beneath the walls of Syracuse did not glitter. They toiled in full armor, again according to regulation, but their mail was dusty and dingy from the long campaign, greased against the salt sea air. Most of them wore the new iron helmets turned out by the Gallic armorers for the unprecedented expansion of legions demanded by the war of reconquest. These helmets.with their deep, flaring neckguards and broad cheekplates, completely unadorned, still looked strange and ugly to Roman eyes, but they had proved their battle-fitness repeatedly.
The battlements of Syracuse were lined with expert slingers from the Balearic Islands; They hurled lead sling-bullets the size of a boy's fist, with enough power to dent a bronze helmet deeply, often fracturing the skull beneath. The bullets merely glanced from the harder iron. Men from the older legions frequently tried to trade their beautiful old bronze helmets for the new ones, but they found few takers.
The trumpets sounded and the noise lessened for a few
minutes as one legion retired to the camp on the island and
another went out to take its place. By working each legion
four hours at a time, the Romans were able to keep the work
going day and night. The impressed labor worked in gangs
for twelve hours at a stretch. Attrition among them was
high, but plenty of prisoners arrived every day to replace the
fallen. -
"Here comes old Cyclops," Fabius said.
"He can observe, it's his duty," Scaeva said. "But don't let him try to give orders. You know he'll try. The old bugger's been giving orders all his life."
Moments later they were joined by Publius Cornelius Scipio, only living grandson of the hero of Cannae and second oldest man in the Senate. Wearing some forty-five pounds of old-fashioned armor, he climbed the steps of the command tower with the springy step of a man one-third his years. A broad eyepatch covered one side of his face.
"Proconsul," he said, nodding to Scaeva. "Praefect." Another nod, toward Fabius. "Any progress?" The old man wasted few words. He had been sent out by the Senate as special observer, with no command authority but with the right to see every aspect of operations and report in regular dispatches. He had already made forays inland to see the progress of Roman forces on the island and had been stunned by the beauty of the landscape and the richness of its farm and pasture land. The Romans were soldiers from birth, but they were agriculturalists to their bones and loved fine farmland above all else. They fought to protect their farms and they conquered to gain more land. It was that simple.
"The sappers are undermining the base of the big tower over there," Scaeva said, gesturing with his cup. "They'll have it down in a few days."
Cyclops squinted with his remaining eye at the activity opposite. "What about the rams? Are they doing any damage?"
"They're a feint," Scaeva said, "to distract the enemy from the mines. By afternoon we'll have the catapults in action; then there'll be a little relief from those damned slingers and archers. They've been the real danger in this fight, not the Carthaginians."
Cyclops nodded. "That being the case," he said, "the men will probably massacre them when the city is taken." He chose his next words carefully so that he was making a suggestion, not giving an order. "You might consider passing the word to spare them, much as it might grieve the men to let them live. We'll need every missile soldier we can get when we assault Carthage."
"Already done," Scaeva told him. "I've promised ten silver denarii a head for every archer or slinger brought in alive."